UC-NRLF 


^^Hu&V--/ 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Estate  of 
Ernst  and  Eleanor 
van  Loben  Sels 


LANG  SYNE 


OR 


THE  WARDS  OF  MOUNT  VERNON 


A  TALE  OF  THE  REVOLUTIONARY  ERA 


BY 

MAEY   STUART   SMITH. 


THIRD  EDITION 


NEW   YORK 

UNIVERSITY   PUBLISHING   COMPANY 

1890 


Copyright,  1889, 
ft 

MARY  STUART  SMITH. 


±Qm  stack 
'GIFT 


> 


9^5 


'^  "^  'to^z^r  ?  '  hc4^^7~~c>  ri^^^_ 


i 

.  Dedicated    with    Loving    Reverence 

TO 

THE     MEMORY     OF    WASHINGTON 

AND 

TO     AMERICAN     WOMANHOOD 

BY 

A    DAUGHTER    OF     VIRGINIA. 


344 


CONTENTS. 


I.  Introduction,      ...  7 

II.  In  which  the  Ball  Opens,     -  10 

III.  A  Philosopher  at  Home,  32 

IV.  In  which  Tears  and  Smiles  Mingle,        50 
V.  The  Soldier's  Dream,             -  -      59 

YI.  The  Tug  of  War,            -  M 

VII.  The  Battle  of  Monmouth,     -  -      TO 

YIII.  Light  Beyond,                  ...  75 

IX.  Conclusion,   -             -             -  88 

The  Women  of  the  Revolution,            -  97 


Note. — This  book  -was  especially  prepared  as  a  trib- 
ute to  Washington  on  the  occasion  of  the  Centennial 
Celebration  of  April  30th,  1889.  Hence  the  anticipa- 
tory allusions  of  the  introductory  chapter. 

M.  S.  S. 


LANG    SYNE; 

OR, 

THE   WARDS   OF   MOUNT  VERNON. 


CHAPTER   I. 

INTRODUCTION. 

When  a  people  whose  watchword  is  Progress, 
consent  to  stand  still,  and  pausing  in  their 
career,  not  only  look  backward,  but  devote 
their  time  and  their  energies  to  enthusiastic 
commemoration  of  the  deeds  of  the  past,  it  is 
a  speaking  tribute  to  the  hold  which  that  past 
has  upon  their  affections,  and  to  the  power 
which  it  may  yet  wield  in  moulding  the  char- 
acter of  their  future.  Such  an  exhibition  of 
patriotism,  we  are  again  looking  forward  to  on 
April  30th,  1889,  as  was  given  by  the  people  of 
these  United  States  the  memorable  year  which 
marked  the  completion  of  our  republic's  first 
century  of  existence. 

What  an  electric  thrill  that  was  which  shot 
through  the  length  and  breadth  of  this  mighty 
land,  when  the  solemn  stroke  of  the  midnight 
bell,  tolling  the  requiem  of  1875,  changed  its 
tone  into  one  of  glad  rejoicing,  as  it  rang  forth 
the  advent  of  the  infant  year,  which  ushered  in 
the  second  century  of  our  existence  as  a  nation. 


8  Lang  Syne. 

That  was  a  typical  scene  which  was  enacted, 
at  the  same  hour,  in  the  heart  of  the  greatest 
thoroughfare  of  the  greatest  city  in  America, 
when,  from  the  lofty  spire  of  old  Trinity 
Church,  chimed  forth  a  glad  welcome  to  that 
significant  New  Year,  and  thousands  of  human 
tongues  gave  back  harmonious  response,  as  they 
thundered  forth  the  most  familiar  but  sublimest 
of  doxologies  to  the  immortal  melody  of  "  Old 
Hundred."  Typical  was  this  scene  of  the 
feelings  cherished  by  a  whole  people  although 
not  everybody  had  the  opportunity  of  giving 
such  dramatic  expression  to  the  emotions  of 
thankfulness  welling  up  within  his  soul. 

Thirteen  years  have  elapsed  since  that  enthusi- 
astic assembly  of  representatives  from  all  the 
States  of  the  Union,  convened  at  Philadelphia, 
as  the  fountain  head  of  our  independence,  and 
in  that  noble  Centennial  Exposition  demon- 
strated the  glory  to  which  we  had  attained  as  a 
republic.  And  yet  the  impulses  of  that  occa- 
sion are  a  power  in  the  land  and  we  hope 
speedily,  in  the  scenes  that  shall  be  witnessed 
in  New  York,  upon  occasion  of  the  festivities 
that  are  to  celebrate  the  Centennial  of  the  inaug- 
uration of  Gen.  Washington  as  the  first  Presi- 
dent of  the  United  States,  we  shall  have  ocular 
demonstration,  that  the  citizens  of  to-day  are 
not  a  whit  behind  their  fore-fathors  in  deep, 
fervent  love  for  their  country.     Such  reunions 


Introduction.  9 

cannot  be  in  vain.  No  !  every  season  of  retro- 
spect, wherein  we  pay  homage  to  the  founders 
of  our  republic,  must  be  fraught  with  immense 
good.  It  is  in  the  nature  of  a  steadfast  con- 
templation of  virtue  to  produce  a  reflection  of 
the  same.  And  when  from  the  past  we  evoke 
the  living  presence  of  the  great  and  noble,  can 
we  fail  to  be  ourselves  ennobled  by  the  very 
effort,  which  brings  us  near  to  them  in  spirit  ? 
Especially  when  we  remember  that  these 
patriots  and  noblemen  in  nature's  mould  were 
linked  to  us  by  ties  of  consanguinity  as  well  as 
country,  who  shall  be  content  to  sit  clown  in 
degeneracy  and  contempt,  when,  by  the  grace 
of  God,  we  may  so  live  as  to  add  yet  other 
laurels  to  the  crowns  which  already  wreathe 
the  brows  of  our  revolutionary  sires  ? 

But  the  present  writer  comes  not  with  intent 
to  make  preachment  or  pronounce  eulogy,  but 
with  timid  and  reverential  hand,  to  lift  the  cur- 
tain which  has  hitherto  veiled  certain  pictures 
of  revolutionary  scenes,  and  to  invite  others  to 
join  in  their  contemplation.  Happy  will  she  be 
to  find  sharers  in  the  pleasing  impression  made 
upon  her  own  mind  by  the  coming  of  these 
visitants  from  a  bygone  day,  seen,  tho'  they  may 
have  been,  through  the  imperfect  medium  of  the 
imagination. 


CHAPTER  II. 

IN   WHICH  THE   BALL   OPENS. 

"  Shall  aukl  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  never  brought  to  mind  ?  " 

On  the  4th  of  July,  1776,  the  City  of  Broth- 
erly Love  was  the  scene  of  unwonted  bustle 
and  commotion.  Despite  a  burning  sun  and 
heated  atmosphere,  that,  towards  the  afternoon 
became  unmistakably  sultry,  there  was  a  per- 
petual moving  to  and  fro,  not  onl}^  of  business 
men,  but  delicate  women  and  gentlemen,  who 
through  their  age  or  dignity  of  station  would 
naturally  have  been  exempt  from  necessity  for 
such  exertion.  This  state  of  affairs  was  the 
more  remarkable,  at  the  period  of  the  year, 
when,  if  at  any  time,  nature  demanded  a  season 
of  quiet  and  repose.  Anxiety  was  depicted 
upon  every  face,  and,  as  the  day  waxed  warmer, 
and  watching  more  weary,  the  signs  by  which 
it  betrayed  itself  assumed  more  and  more  the 
hue  of  impatience.  It  was  evident  that  a  crisis 
was  at  hand,  touching  very  nearly  the  interests 
of  the  multitudes  thronging  the  streets  and 
gathered  together  here  and  there  in  excited 
groups.  Even  the  tranquil  Quakers,  then  so 
numerous  in  Philadelphia,  seemed  to  be  thawed 


In    Which  the  Ball   Opens.  11 

out  of  their  wonted  calmness  and  rigid  self 
control. 

"  Friend,"  said  an  aged  Quakeress,  lightly 
touching,  with  admonitory  gesture,  the  arm  of 
a  young  man  walking  at  her  side,  whose  heav- 
ing chest  and  speaking  eye  betokened  the 
strength  of  the  storm  raging  within  his  breast : 
"  Friend,  dost  thou  forget  that  in  quietness  of 
spirit  is  found  the  anchor  of  a  storm-tossed 
soul?" 

The  young  man  humbly  bowed  his  acquies- 
cence in  the  pious  sentiment,  but  the  next 
minute  bade  his  adviser  adieu,  and  turning 
upon  his  heel  with  a  quick  step  moved  off  in 
the  direction  of  the  State  House,  where  Con- 
gress had  been  convened  since  early  morning. 

Dense  was  the  crowd,  and  silent  through 
intensity  of  anxious  expectation,  that  thronged 
about  the  hall  where  sat  in  earnest  debate 
within  closed  door  the  representatives  of  Great 
Britain's  thirteen  revolted  colonies.  To-day 
public  expectation  awaited  the  official  an- 
nouncement of  that  independence,  which  was 
already  felt  to  exist  de  facto,  nor  was  it  destined 
to  be  disappointed.  At  last,  just  as  the  clock 
upon  the  face  of  the  State  House  struck  two,  a 
shout  was  heard,  and  immediately  afterwards, 
from  its  lofty  station  on  high,  Liberty  Bell  rang 
forth  one  peal  after  another,  proclaiming  to  ears 
intent  that  decisive  action  had  been  taken ;  yea, 


12  Lang  Syne. 

that  another  nation  had  been  born  to  take  its 
place  among  the  peoples  of  the  earth.  Liberty  ! 
Liberty ! !  was  felt  to  be  the  burden  of  the 
refrain.  For  well  the  citizens  remembered  now 
the  inscription  which  encircled  the  crown  of 
that  swinging  bell — the  largest,  most  massive  one 
then  in  the  country,  viz  :  "  Let  there  be  liberty 
throughout  all  the  land,  unto  all  the  inhabitants 
thereof."  Hitherto  these  words  had  partaken 
of  the  mystery  of  prophecy,  now  they  rang  forth 
in  all  the  clearness  and  sweetness  of  a  revela- 
tion, joyful  and  distinct.  To-day  that  voice  of 
prophecy  was  felt  to  have  been  fulfilled,  and 
while  friend  in  congratulation  grasped  the  hand 
of  friend,  there  was  mingled  with  sympathy's 
tenderness  of  pressure,  the  firmness  of  resolve  ; 
for  well  our  forefathers  knew  that  "  it  becometh 
not  the  man  who  buckleth  on  his  armor,  to  boast 
himself  as  he  who  layeth  it  aside."' 

But  the  shades  of  evening  fall  upon  the 
longest,  brightest  day,  and  after  the  fevered 
excitements  of  this  eventful  fourth  of  July,  the 
cool  breezes  that  towards  evening  began  to  steal 
citywards  from  both  the  Schuylkill  and  Dela- 
ware, were  more  than  usually  grateful. 

Few,  however,  were  in  a  state  of  mind  to 
note  such  secondary  causes  for  being  cheerful, 
and  darkness  had  hardly  closed  in  before  the 
elite  of  the  City  were  busy  at  their  toilets, 
preparing  to  honor  with  their  presence,  a  ball 


In    Which  the  Ball   Opens.  13 

given   at   the   splendid  suburban  residence  of 
General  Cadwallader. 

Primitive  were  the  hours  for  the  gathering 
together  of  such  assemblies,  and  punctilious 
those  Revolutionary  beaux  and  belles  in  pre- 
senting themselves  at  the  precise  hour  named 
upon  the  cards  of  invitation.  It  had  happened 
quite  accidentally  that  this  ball  had  fallen  upon 
a  day  so  remarkable  in  our  historical  annals. 
But  since  it  was  even  so,  the  chronicler  cannot 
deem  it  unworthy  his  attention,  and  those  who 
enjoy  entree  into  the  most  select  circles  will 
find  themselves  interested  spectators,  if  they 
will  consent,  unobserved,  to  take  their  places 
near  the  mistress  of  festivities,  and  note  s-ome 
of  the  celebrities  as  they  are  presented,  and  pay 
the  customary  compliments  to  their  dignified 
but  gracious  hostess.  Beneath  a  brilliantly 
lighted  chandelier  she  takes  position,  in  the  en- 
trance hall  near  to  spacious  parlors  opening  to 
the  right  and  left,  through  folding  doors,  where 
she  can  conveniently  welcome  the  new  comers ; 
while  already,  the  merry  sound  of  violins  within, 
invites  the  young  and  gay  to  lose  no  time  in 
choosing  their  partners,  and  taking  their  places 
upon  the  floor.  Mrs.  Cadwallader  was  dressed 
in  a  silk  velvet  of  richest  violet  hue,  with  trim- 
ming of  point  lace,  while  a*  coronet  of  diamonds 
blazed  upon  her  brow,  showing  to  the  greatest 
advantage,  as  the  dark  color  of  her  raven  tresses 


14  Lang  Syne. 

was  but  ill-concealed  by  the  powder,  laid  on 
albeit  with  the  hair  dresser's  most  skilful  art. 
Just  now  she  opens  a  note  handed  her  by  a 
liveried  valet  (alas  !  for  republican  consistency), 
and  as  she  excuses  herself  to  the  gentlemen 
around,  let  us  also  share  its  contents.  It  is 
from  the  Commander-in-chief  himself.* 

Dear  Madam — Mrs.  Washington  and  n^self 
have  been  honored  with  your  polite  invitation 
to  your  assembly,  and  thank  you  for  your  polite 
attention.  But  alas !  engagements  of  a  differ- 
ent and  graver  sort  at  present  chain  us  to  New 
York.  We  wish  you  however,  as  well  as  your 
young  people,  a  pleasant  evening  in  the  exer- 
cise of  so  agreeable  and  innocent  amusement  as 
the  dance  will  afford  them,  and  remain,  madam, 
Your  most  obedient  and  obliged  humble  servant, 
George  Washington." 

With  a  gratified  smile  the  lady  folded  up  the 
missive,  which,  by  the  by,  consisted  of  a  single 
sheet  of  paper,  folded  in  square  shape  and 
sealed  w^ith  a  signet  ring.  At  the  same  time 
she  expressed  her  regrets  at  being  deprived  of 
the  gratification  of  entertaining  the  General,  to  a 
tall,  graceful  gentleman  standing  near,  who  was 
none  other  than  Francis  Hopkinson,  not  only 
one  of  the  signers  of  the  Declaration  of  Inde- 
pendence, but  already  recognized  as  a  poet  of 

(*Compnre   with   note   of   Gen'l    Washington's,   preserved  in 
Museum  at  Alexandria, Va.—Lossing's  Field  Book  of  Revolution.) 


In   Which  the  Ball   Opens.  15 

no  mean  genius  ;  although  hearts  had  not  yet 
been  thrilled  by  the  spirit-stirring  strains  of 
"  Hail  Columbia,  "  nor  the  laugh  gone  round  at 
the  recital  of  his  "  Battle  of  the  Kegs." 

But  now  advances  the  hero  of  the  day, 
Thomas  Jefferson,  who  was  even  then  known 
to  have  drawn  up  our  Declaration  of  Independ- 
ence in  such  masterly  style  as  was  already  the 
theme  of  praise  for  every  patriot's  tongue. 
Who  is  there  that  needs  more  than  his  bare 
name  to  suggest  his  personal  appearance, 
familiar  as  it  has  been  made  by  the  art  of 
painter,  sculptor  and  biographer.  On  his  arm 
leaned  his  wife,  still  in  the  fresh  bloom  of 
womanhood,  although  she  was  a  widow  when  he 
had  married  her  about  two  years  before.  Al- 
though not  strictly  beautiful,  Mrs.  Jefferson 
possessed  one  of  those  bright,  animated  faces 
that  wins  its  way  to  all  hearts,  and  if  her  man- 
ners had  the  polish  imparted  by  high  culture, 
they  had  not  at  all  the  effect  of  what  is  artifi- 
cial, but  rather  seemed  the  genuine  emanation 
of  a  sweet  nature,  peculiarly  gentle  and  femi- 
nine. She  was  arrayed  in  a  stiff  brocade  of  white 
silk,  embroidered  with  bunches  of  gay  flowers, 
while  the  coiffure  was  an  erection  of  natural  hair 
whose  complications  defy  description,  but  whose 
tout  ensemble  was  artistic,  and  bore  the  impress 
of  Parisian  taste. 

Another  couple  who  claim  particular  atten- 


16  Lang  Syne. 

tion,  bore  the  relation  of  father  and  daughter. 
Dr.  Franklin  and  his  daughter,  Mrs.  Bache, 
bore  a  strong  personal  resemblance  to  each 
other,  and  were  none  the  less  welcome  if  appear- 
ing in  a  simplicity  of  garb,  that  in  others  would 
have  been  accounted  outre,  but  in  them  was 
rather  admired  than  criticised. 

Many  more  there  were  whose  presence 
deserves  notice,  but  we  can  not  forget  that  the 
hour  was  one  particularly  devoted  to  amusement, 
and  hasten  with  the  now  assembled  guests 
to  witness  the  opening  of  the  ball,  wliich  was  led 
off  b}^  the  host  and  hostess,  with  their  most  dis- 
tinguished guests.  Nor  let  us  suppose  that  there 
was  any  want  of  dignity  implied  by  this  act 
on  the  part  of  the  gravest  personage  there,  for 
the  slow  measured  movements  of  the  minuet, 
while  well  fitted  to  display  grace,  were  yet 
most  decorous,  and  so  slow  that  age  itself  had 
no  cause  to  unbend  in  performing  its  stately 
evolutions.  It  was  a  beautiful  sight  to  watch 
the  many  couples  of  fair  women  and  handsome 
men,  whose  courtesies  and  reverential  bows,  as 
prescribed  by  the  figure,  were  expressive  of  a 
mutual,  distant  respect  that  would  be  difficult 
to  simulate  in  a  modern  ball  room.  Yet,  as  we 
shall  presently  see,  the  power  of  woman  was 
exercised  quite  as  despotically  as  'twould  be 
now,  were  the  most  violent  asserters  of  woman's 
rights   allowed   to    have    their  way.     But  see! 


In    Which  the  Ball   Opens.  17 

the  figure  has  changed  to  the  more  sprightly 
Contredance,  and  many  of  the  elders  have 
retired  from  the  circle  of  the  dance  to  become 
lookers  on  or  to  take  a  hand  at  the  card  tables, 
which  were  set  out  in  another  room. 

Who  are  those  now  gliding  past  us?  That 
tall,  girlish  form  which  fascinates  our  gaze,  the 
airy  folds  of  whose  delicate  India  muslin  gown 
lend  to  her  figure  an  almost  etherial  grace,  and 
seem  to  envelope  her  in  an  atmosphere  too 
transparent  for  earth's  belongings,  is  none  other 
than  Lady  Alice  Germaine,  daughter  of  the 
quondam  British  Governor  of  New  York,  who 
had  strangely  enough  been  left  behind  when 
her  father  took  his  hasty  departure  from  the 
unquiet  Colony,  where  his  abode  had  been  any- 
thing but  pleasant;  the  existence  of  a  step- 
mother in  the  case  may  explain  much. 

For  months  Lady  Alice  had  been  an  honored 
guest  in  the  house  of  her  friend,  Mrs.  Cadwal- 
lader,  and  despite  the  constant  agitation  of 
political  questions,  which  were  so  openly  dis- 
cussed in  all  circles,  every  pains  had  been  taken 
to  spare  the  young  English  girl's  feelings.  Even 
now  when  the  infant  nation  was  in  its  first 
intoxication  of  delight  at  dropping  its  leading- 
strings  and  standing  up  alone,  so  great  was  the 
consideration  shown  for  the  }Toung  lady,  and  so 
carefully  were  politics  eschewed  in  her  presence, 
that  her  situation  was  as  little  painful  as  was 
2 


18  Lang  Syne. 

possible  under  the  circumstances.  Her  part- 
ner's uniform  showed  him  to  belong  to  the 
Commander-in-Chiefs  Life  Guard.  He  wore  a 
blue  coat  with  white  facings,  white  vest  and 
knee  breeches,  black  half-gaiters,  with  an  Officer's 
sash  and  sword.  The  cocked  hat  with  blue  and 
white  feather  needed  to  complete  the  outfit 
had  of  course  been  laid  aside  on  this  occasion. 
This  young  gentleman  was  of  commanding 
height,  and  while  not  possessed  of  very  regular 
features,  had  a  countenance  singularly  interest- 
ing and  attractive:  he  was  a  nephew  of 
General  Washington,  said  to  be  a  favorite  one, 
Lieutenant  Reginald  Lewis.  In  the  order  of 
the  dance,  next  came  his  comrade-in-arms, 
Oswald  Caperton,  who,  with  a  handsome  face, 
had  an  equally  elegant  bearing;  while  his  part- 
ner, Miss  Attaway  Lewis,  Reginald's  sister,  was 
of  such  striking  beauty  that  she  never  appeared 
in  public  without  exciting  so  much  admiration 
as  was  often  painful  to  one  of  her  modestly 
shrinking  nature.  It  took  no  acute  observer  to 
perceive  that  each  of  these  two  pairs  of  young 
people  felt  a  deeper  interest  in  one  another  than 
a  casual  partnership  in  a  dance  is  wont  to 
inspire.  But  just  now  the  cotillion  is  over,  and 
the  band  strikes  up  a  march  which  is  the  signal 
for  the  company  to  adjourn  to  the  supper-room. 
Our  two  pairs  of  lovers  would  willingly  have 
remained  undivided,  but  Lady  Alice's  hand  was 


In    Winch  the  Ball   Opens.  19 

suddenly  claimed  by  Dr.  Franklin,  who  pleaded 
an  engagement  of  long  standing,  and  playfully 
led  her  off  in  triumph,  much  to  the  chagrin  of 
young  Lewis,  who  still  hovered  about  the 
neighborhood,  near  enough  to  join  every  now 
and  then  in  the  bantering  that  was  being 
exchanged  between  the  oddly  assorted  couple. 
Attaway  Lewis  and  Alice  Germain  were 
devoted  friends  and  slyly  contrived  to  keep 
near  each  other  as  they  took  their  places  in  the 
dining-hall,  now  ablaze  with  a  hundred  wax 
lights,  and  displaying  a  table  that  elicited  as 
audible  signs  of  admiration  as  were  deemed 
admissable  in  circles  swayed  by  the  etiquette  of 
old-fashioned  good  breeding. 

As  a  ball  supper  in  those  days  was  not 
ordered  precisely  as  in  our  time,  perhaps  it  will 
not  be  o,ut  of  place  to  describe  it  briefly,  The 
massive  oak  table  was  draped  in  line  and  snowy 
damask.  Rare  exotics  and  luscious  fruits  vied 
with  each  other  in  lending  beauty  to  the  repast. 
At  one  end  of  the  table,  as  its  principal  dish, 
stood  a  superbly  roasted  pig,  holding  an  orange 
in  his  mouth,  while  at  the  other  end  was  equally 
conspicuous  the  traditional  boar's  head  gar- 
nished with  herbs,  yet  preserving  a  smack  of 
savagery  still.  Roast  duck — fried  chicken — 
stewed  terrapin — sandwiches  with  Virginia 
ham  were  among  the  viands  of  which  there  was 
a  lordly  array;  while  on  the  same  table  were 


20  Lang  Syne. 

arranged  floating  islands,  a  wonderful  bird's 
nest  of  blanc-mange  and  shredded  lemon  rind, 
etc.  The  centre  ornament  consisted  of  a  mar- 
vellous pyramid  of  spun  candy  and  candied 
oranges. 

Now  the  description  would  be  incomplete,  if 
it  were  not  mentioned  that  the  dishes  on  which 
the  meats  were  served  were  of  silver,  while  the 
delicate  India  and  Sevres  China  and  cut  glass, 
on  which  the  dessert  was  served,  would  have 
been  regarded  as  unsurpassed,  even  by  a  mod- 
ern connoisseur  in  ceramics. 

"Lady  Alice,"  said  Dr.  Franklin,  as  any 
other  mortal  might  have  done,  "what  may  I 
help  you  to  ?  " 

"Oh,  to  some  of  the  barley-cream  if  you 
please,  or  a  cup  of  orgeat  would  be  refreshing/' 

"  What !  nothing  more  substantial,"  exclaimed 
the  doctor;  "  but  why  should  I  expect  so  ethereal 
a  being  as  yourself  to  feed  on  aught  but  fancy 
food?  Would  not  a  drop  of  dew  in  a  rose-leaf 
cup  be  better,  eh?  But  be  it  as  you  will." 
And  he  moved  away  to  do  her  bidding.  The 
young  ladies,  however,  did  not  tarry  long  in 
the  supper-room,  not  seeming  to  relish  overmuch 
even  their  light  diet  of  sweets,  ambrosial  though 
they  were,  and  soon  requested  their  escorts  to 
lead  them  up-stairs  into  the  balcony,  where  they 
promised  to  await  the  return  of  the  gentlemen, 
who   remained   in   the  supper-room  some  time 


In    Which  the  Ball   Opens.  21 

after  the  ladies  departed,  as  was  also  the  fashion 
of  the  day. 

The  whole  company  of  ladies  was  dispersed 
about  the  deserted  ball-room  and  parlors,  ap- 
parently enjoying  the  unceremoniousness  of  the 
house,  the  servants  applied  fresh  wax  to  the 
floor,  and  our  two  heroines  were  left  to  enjoy 
themselves  on  the  balcony  as  they  listed. 

A  leafy  curtain  of  woodbine  and  roses  ran 
along  the  whole  length  of  the  portico,  but  it 
could  not  keep  out  the  play  of  glancing  moon- 
beams, and  ever  and  anon  as  they  walked  to 
and  fro,  they  gazed  entranced  upon  the  gliding 
Delaware,  that  like  a  silver  mirror  shone  in  the 
immediate  neighborhood  and.  reflected,  with  a 
poetic  radiance,  the  images  of  moon  and  stars 
and  castellated  walls.  A  singular  gravity 
rested  upon  the  brow  of  the  Lady  Alice,  ill- 
befitting,  it  would  seem,  the  place  and  hour. 

"  Attaway,"  said  she,  tightening  the  clasp  in 
which  she  held  imprisoned  her  companion's 
hand,  "  I  am  thankful  to  have  this  opportunity 
of  opening  my  heart  to  you,  my  dearest  friend." 

"  Say  not  dearest,'7  interrupted  Attaway,  "  or 
I  shall  be  jealous  of  myself,  even  for  the  sake 
of  one  whose  interests  are  dearer  to  me  than 
my  own." 

"  Speak  not  of  so  hateful  a  thing  as  jealousy, 
even  in  jest,  sweet  friend,"  returned  Lady 
Alice,  a  smile  crossing  her  face  that  was  pain- 


22  Lang  Syne. 

ful  in  its  sadness.  "  The  time  has  come  when 
we  must  part.  Plain  speech  and  candor  should 
mark  the  hours  that  yet  remain  of  intercourse 
between  friends  so  near  and  true  as  you  and  I 
have  been." 

"  Yes,  darling,  I  too  shall  use  sincerity  with 
one,  who  so  well  deserves  it.  For  months  I 
have  felt  as  if  a  wall  of  separation  were  being- 
built  between  us,  but  not  because  of  any 
diminution  of  love  on  either  side.  I  shall  not 
affect  to  be  surprised  by  the  news  you  break  to 
me,  painful  as  it  is.  I  heard  Mrs.  Cadwallader 
tell  cousin  Maria  Dandridge,  in  our  parlor  at 
the  hotel,  that  your  father  had  at  last  sent  to 
demand  passports  for  you  from  the  Commander- 
in-chief,  and  that  she  had  resolved  to  accom- 
pany you  herself  to  New  York,  where  it  was 
arranged  that  you  should  set  sail.  Oh  !  Alice, 
my  heart  bleeds  for  Reginald.  I  know  not 
whether  he  has  declared  his  love  for  you,  but  I 
see  it  in  his  every  act  and  word,  and  from  me 
he  has  kept  it  no  secret,  for  Oh !  this  long 
time." 

"  Little  does  it  matter  to  speak  of  that  at  this 
time,  Attaway,  although  I  acknowledge  that 
your  noble  brother  has  won  too  high  a  place  in 
my  affections  for  my  own  peace  of  mind.  For, 
oh,  Attaway !  my  heart  is  heavy ;  beyond  expres- 
sion, heavy !  Think  of  the  short  time  that  must 
intervene,  before  the  broad  Atlantic  will  roll 


In   Which  the  Ball   Opens.  23 

between  us,  and  alas,  the  yet  more  threatening 
waves  of  cruel  war.  Think  not  that  I  have 
been  deceived  by  the  considerate  kindness  of 
you  all.  Well  do  I  know  the  issues  which  are 
at  stake.  This  very  day  the  Rubicon  was 
crossed.  Oh!  how  my  heart  has  been  wrung, 
the  more  keenly,  because  compelled  to  stifle  its 
emotions,  and  simulate  a  calmness  it  did  not 
feel.  I  part  from  you,  dear  friends,  and  Amer- 
ica the  home  of  my  adoption,  and  for  what  ?  To 
go  to  a  father  estranged  from  me.  and  so  bitter 
in  his  political  aversions  and  resentment,  that 
it  rings  the  death  knell  to  all  hopes  of  his  con- 
senting to  my  union  with  one  whom  he  would 
call  a  rebel,  whom  I  would  call  " — murmured  she 
in  low  tones,  almost  exultant — "a  patriot  soldier, 
with  the  stamp  of  hero  on  his  brow." 

"  Bless  you  for  that  admission,  dearest,"  said 
Attaway,  warmly  kissing  the  enthusiastic  girl, 
who  had  evidently  been  no  impassive  recipient 
of  those  sentiments  of  resistance  to  tyranny, 
which  were  rife  in  the  land,  however  unbecom- 
ing she  might  hitherto  have  deemed  it  for  the 
daughter  of  Lord  George  Germaine,  to  express 
them  openly.  "But  why  take  so  gloomy  a  view 
of  the  matter?  Your  father  must  relent  when 
he  finds  your  happiness  involved.  Or  say,  why 
return  to  him  at  all?  Give  Reginald  that 
higher  claim  to  your  duty  and  affection,  which 


24  Lang  Syne. 

no  Christian  can  gainsay.  We  must  leave  father 
and  mother,  you  know,"  added  she  archly. 

Sadly  the  Lady  Alice  shook  her  head.  "  Play 
not  the  part  of  the  tempter,  pretty  one,  nor 
mock  at  the  strange  mood  which  has  come  over 
your  poor  friend.  I  want  you  to  accept  a  token 
of  my  love,  which  you  must  ever  wear  near 
your  heart.  If  it  is  also  a  token  of  my  cow- 
ardice, forgive  the  weakness  and  wear  it  still. 
Nor  scorn  it  if  I  say  it  will  be  a  talisman  'gainst 
dangers  and  disaster." 

"Why  Alice,  I  must  confers  I  am  curious  as 
to  the  manner  of  gift  with  which  yon  would  so 
mysteriously  endow  me.  Nov*-  I  admit  that  I 
I  am  not  without  a  silly  girl's  hankering  after 
gew-gaw,;  and  jewelry  of  all  sorts,  so  if  it  be 
pretty,  fear  not  that  I  shall  reject  your  talis- 
man, however  the  tinge  of  superstition  may 
attach  to  its  mode  of  presentation." 

"Well,  darling,"  said  Alice,  blushing,  as  she 
took  from  her  own  neck  a  triple  row  of  seed 
pearls,  upon  which  was  strung  a  handsome  seal- 
ring.  "  Here  is  my  talisman.  If  the  fortunes  of 
war  should  go  against  you — be  not  angry  " — for 
instinctively  the  proud  young  republican  had 
drawn  herself  up  to  her  full  height,  and  rather 
shrank  from  contact  with  even  so  small  a  thing, 
said  to  emanate  from  British  power.  "  No 
Loyalist  will  ever  refuse  to  aid  to  his  utmost  the 
wearer  of  this  ring."     As  Attaway  still   hesi- 


la    Which  the  Ball   Op 


ens. 


tated,  Alice's  features  began  to  quiver  with 
agitation.  "  Oh  !  refuse  me  not  this  last  request, 
'twill  comfort  my  aching  heart  to  reflect  that  I 
have  at  least  tried  to  provide  a  shield  for  my 
dear  friend,  against  unexpected  misfortune  ?  " 

Attawajr  suddenly  drew  nearer — "No,  for  I 
can  refuse  nothing  to  you,  you  sweet  creature ; 
these  fair  pearls  shall  be  cherished  as  lovingly 
as  you  desire.  As  to  the  ring,  for  your  sake 
only  I  shall  keep  it,  but  I  hope  to  return  it, 
when  time  shall  have  proved  to  you  that  we 
need'no  protection  from  England,  whatsoever.'' 

Just  now  a  hum  of  eager  voices  was  heard, 
seeking  for  the  two,  who  could  not  willingly  be 
spared  from  the  scene  or*  revelry.  Strains  of 
violin  music,  too,  invited  to  the  dance,  but  the 
air  adapted  for  the  quadrille  was  "  Joys  That 
WeVe  Tasted,"  and  somehow  struck  home  with 
overpowering  effect,  to  the  hearts  of  these  two 
simple  girls. 

Alice  could  scarcely  find  voice  wherewith  to 
beg  Attaway  to  excuse  her  to  Mrs.  Cadwalla- 
der,  as  she  felt  too  unwell  to  rejoin  the  com- 
pany, and  gratefully  accepted  the  arm  of  Regi- 
nald Lewis,  who  had  hurried  to  her  side,  per- 
ceiving with  a  lover's  quicksightedness  that 
something  was  amiss  with  her.  She  begged 
him  to  lead  her,  without  delay,  to  a  staircase 
at  the  other  end  of  the  house,  whence  she 
could,  unobserved  gain  access  to  her  own  apart- 


26  Lang  Syne. 

merits.  Walking  the  whole  shaded  length  of 
the  portico,  the  poor  girl  escaped  that  atten- 
tion, which  her  drooping  head  and  tear-stained 
countenance  must  otherwise  have  excited. 
Reginald  was  deeply  moved  at  the  sight  of  her 
emotion,  and  never  had  he  had  so  stern  a  con- 
flict to  maintain  with  his  feelings  as  at  this 
moment,  when  inclination  prompted  him  to 
break  through  his  forced  reserve,  tell  her  how 
devotedly  he  loved  her,  and  through  the 
strength  of  that  devotion,  plead  for  the  privi- 
lege of  being  her  comforter. 

But  ere  he  had  sufficiently  mastered  himself 
to  speak  the  first  word,  their  short  walk  was 
over,  for  they  had  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs, 
and  he  ventured  only  to  press  Lady  Alice's 
gloved  hand,  in  silent  token  of  sympathy  in 
her  evident  distress.  Long  after  she  had  dis- 
appeared, did  he  stand  gazing  upon  the  spot 
where  he  had  last  caught  sight  of  her  fluttering 
robe  and  tiny  foot.  Then  he  slowly  turned  and 
stepped  forth  into  the  moonlight,  uncovered, 
feeling  that  the  glare  of  the  ball-room,  and 
restraints  of  company  would  be  unbearable, 
and  that  he  must  have  the  indulgence  of  a  few 
moments,  communing  with  himself,  and  think- 
ing of  Alice,  if  he  could  no  longer  enjoy  her 
presence. 

Long  did  he  stroll,  buried  in  thought,  beneath 
the  trees  of  the  Elm  avenue,  that  for  several 


In    Which  the  Ball   Opens.  27 

miles  skirted  the  river,  as  it  wound  through 
the  magnificent  estate  of  General  Cadwallader. 
Strongly  had  love  been  pleading  within  the 
young  man's  heart  for  many  weeks,  urging  him 
to  a  plain  declaration  of  his  sentiments,  but  a 
high  sense  of  honor  had  ever  withheld  him. 
Lady  Alice  was  of  high  rank,  an  heiress  to 
great  wealth  in  her  own  right,  and  the  daugh- 
ter of  a  man  he  must  account  an  enemy,  seeing 
that  he  was  his  country's  open  foe.  It  was  by 
no  means  consonant  witli  these  ideas  of  pro- 
priety in  which  he  had  been  reared,  that  he 
should  iuduce  a  daughter  to  come  short  of  pay- 
ing to  her  parent  all  filial  respect,  especially 
when  separated  from  him. 

Nevertheless  that  freemasonry  which  uncon- 
sciously passes  the  sign  of  recognition  between 
lovers,  had  done  its  electric  work  for  these  two, 
and  bade  Reginald  not  despair  of  winning  the 
lady's  heart;  and  if  so,  youth  and  enthusiasm 
whispered  all  would  yet  be  well.  Truly  war 
was  an  appalling  chasm  to  see  yawning  before 
him,  with  his  love  upon  the  other  side.  But 
what  obstacle  seems  unsurmountable  to  the 
genuine  lover?  Surely  fortune  could  not  be 
unpropitious  to  one  who  with  high  hearted 
endeavor  sought  to  win  for  himself  so  fair  a 
name,  that  when  peace  should  come,  as  come  it 
would,  even  stern  Lord  George  Germaine  could 
have  no  excuse  for  withholding  a  blessing  upon 


28  Lang  Syne. 

their  union.  And  time  to  him  would  seem  but 
short  if  at  the  end  of  any  probation,  however 
long,  he  could  at  last  claim  Alice  for  his  own. 

Reginald  and  Attaway  Lewis  were  orphans, 
and  to  him  as  the  eldest  had  descended  a  vast 
plantation  in  lower  Virginia,  on  the  banks  of  the 
Potomac.  In  times  of  peace  even  Lord  George 
Germaiue  might  not  have  disdained  the  suit  of 
the  wealthy  young  Virginian.  But  in  war  all 
was  different,  the  estate  was  left  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  an  overseer,  subject  to  war's  disas- 
ters ;  while  the  young  master  had  enlisted  first 
as  a  simple  private,  in  the  ardor  of  a  noble  self, 
forgetting  patriotism.  It  had  been  by  no  seek- 
ing of  his  own,  but  by  nomination  that  he  bad 
been  promoted  to  a  lieutenancy  in  General 
Washington's  Life  Guard,  a  Corps  consisting  of 
picked  men,  selected  for  their  prominence  in 
physical  as  well  as  moral  force.  This  had  been 
to  Reginald  a  peculiarly  acceptable  post,  as  it 
not  only  gave  him  ample  opportunity  of  dis- 
tinguishing himself,  but  kept  him  near  the  per- 
son of  that  beloved  Uncle,  who,  holding  the 
relationship  of  guardian  to  him  during  his 
orphaned  boyhood,  had  ever  held  in  his  heart  a 
father's  place.  But  the  soldier  was  speedily 
aroused  from  his  reverie  by  hearing  his  own 
name  called.  He  had  reached  the  front 
entrance  without  observing  whither  he  directed 
his  steps.     Just  within  the  portals  of  the  gate- 


In    Which  the  Ball    Opens.  29 

way  was  stationed  a  mounted  orderly  of  his 
own  company,  who,  from  the  jaded  appearance 
of  his  horse,  had  ridden  far  and  long  that  day. 
The  man  vaulted  from  his  saddle,  bowed  low 
and  handed  a  bundle  of  dispatches  to  the  young 
officer,  who,  after  inquiring  if  all  sped  well  at 
camp,  and  receiving  an  affirmative  reply,  pro- 
ceeded hastily  to  examine  the  missives  by  the 
light  of  the  moon,  which  now  shone  brilliantly. 
He  must  have  discovered  something  demanding 
urgent  attention,  for  he  made  no  delay,  but 
hurried  up  the  broad  walk  leading  to  the  house, 
though  despite  his  preoccupation,  not  wholly 
unmindful  of  the  delicious  fragrance  exhaling 
from  beds  of  pinks,  lavender  and  mignonette 
on  either  side,  that  gave  forth  double-distilled 
sweetness  under  the  influence  of  the  soft  night 
air.  Arrived  at  the  house,  he  called  for  his 
horse,  hastily  buckled  on  his  sword,  drew  on 
his  plumed  hat,  and  was  soon  galloping  over 
the  road  that  led  to  Philadelphia,  followed 
closehr  by  the  attendant  orderly. 

But  let  us  return  to  the  balcony.  With  a 
woman's  ready  instinct,  Attaway's  first  impulse 
was  to  cover  her  friend's  retreat.  Advancing 
some  steps  she  greeted  the  party  who  had  come 
in  search  of  them,  and,  although  she  was  in 
reality  little  better  fitted  for  resuming  her  place 
in  the  ball-room  than  the  Lady  Alice,  she  made 
a  vigorous  effort  to  throw  off  sad  thoughts,  and 


30  Larg  Syne. 

to  a  superficial  observer  was  the  gayest  of  the 
gay.  Leaning  on  the  arm  of  Oswald  Caper- 
ton,  who  now  proposed  a  promenade,  she  came 
suddenly  upon  Dr.  Franklin,  who  stood  in  an 
alcove  a  little  apart,  in  company  with  another 
elderly  gentleman,  no  doubt  discussing  some 
grave  question  of  politics  or  science. 

"  Oh !  Doctor,"  said  the  livety  girl,  "  when 
will  you  redeem  your  promise  of  letting  us  see 
and  hear  the  wonders  of  the  new  musical  instru- 
ment you  have  invented — the  Armonica,  I 
think  you  call  it." 

"As  soon  as  you  please,  my  dear  young  lady; 
but  where  have  you  left  my  blooming  pet  i 
How  pale  she  was  to-night.  I  shall  not  soon  for- 
give you  for  allowing  her  to  be  spirited  away  in 
my  absence.  She  will  be  of  the  party,  will  she 
not — our  English  nightingale  ?  I  do  believe  my 
Armonica  would  give  forth  its  sweetest  notes 
beneath  the  potent  spell  of  the  Lady  Alice's 
presence." 

"  Well,  Doctor,  if  you  will  make  an  appoint- 
ment for  to-morrow,  not  later,  I  think  I  may 
engage  to  secure  for  you  the  inspiration  you 
say  it  needs.  But,"  added  she,  pretending  to 
pout,  "old  gentlemen  I  see  can  flatter  as  well 
as  young  ones — but  in  case  of  the  absent,  vaut 
il  la  chandelle,  think  you?  From  all  accounts 
your  musical  bells  need  no  further  inspira- 
tion than  has  been  supplied  by  the  deft  fin- 
gers  of    Miss   Davies.     Is   she    here  to-night  ? 


In    Which  the  Ball   Opens.  31 

Will  you  introduce  me,  and  Mr.  Caperton  as 
well?" 

"With  pleasure,"  replied  the  Philosopher,  lead- 
ing them  up  to  a  sofa  where  sat,  ensconced 
between  two  drowsy  matrons,  a  little  lady, 
no  longer  young,  who  returned  their  saluta- 
tions with  a  painfully  diffident  air.  But  her 
sweet,  quiet  face  grew  almost  lively  when  her 
eyes  lighted  up  with  a  sudden  glow,  as  soon  as 
Dr.  Franklin  began  to  speak  to  her  of  music, 
and  especially  of  performance  upon  the  Armon- 
ica,  which  had  already  become  a  passion  with 
her.  She  graciously,,  though  timidly,  yielded 
assent  to  their  united  request  that  she  would, 
the  next  evening  at  Dr.  Franklin's  house,  favor 
them  with  an  exhibition  of  her  skill. 

Livelier  and  livelier  waxed  the  scene  in  the 
ball-room  after  supper.  The  spirits  of  some  of 
the  gentlemen  even  grew  so  exuberant,  as  to 
find  vent  in  the  artistic  "  cutting  of  the  pigeon 
wing."  And  when  at  last  dawn  began  to 
break  in  the  Eastern  sky,  and  the  old  Virginia 
reel  was  called  for,  in  compliment  to  the  many 
Virginians  present,  and  in  allusion  to  their  cus- 
tom of  thus  winding  up  a  ball,  voices  were 
heard  exclaiming  against  breaking  up  so  early. 
Thus  night  was  fast  being  merged  in  day-light, 
when  the  attendants  on  that  first  Fourth  of 
July  ball  dispersed  to  seek  that  repose,  which 
most  of  them  so  much  needed. 

And  here  the  chapter  ends, 


CHAPTER  TIL 

A   PHILOSOPHER    AT    HOME.. 

"  Ah!  would  that  ever  green  might  prove 
The  sweet  springtime  of  youthful  love." 

Schiller's  Song  of  the  Bell. 

Before  they  parted  for  the  night,  Mrs.  Cad- 
wallader  had  arranged  with  Attaway  Lewis  to 
call  for  her  the  next  afternoon  in  her  carriage, 
bringing  Lady  Alice  Germaine,  of  course,  if  she 
should  be  sufficiently  recovered  from  her  indispo- 
sition. 

Much  curiosity  had  been  elicited  by  the  new 
musical  invention,  and  it  was  esteemed  quite  a 
privilege  to  be  allowed  the  entree  into  Doctor 
Franklin's  sanctum,  for  the  sage  was  quite  of 
Jonathan  Oldbuck's  opinion  as  to  the  intrusion 
of  womankind  upon  his  premises.  Knowing  that 
this  was  to  be  her  last  day  of  home-life  among  her 
old  friends,  Alice  had  risen  early  in  the  morn- 
ing, despite  the  vigils  of  a  wakeful  night,  and 
sat  at  her  window  drinking  in  the  varied 
beauty  of  lawn,  shrubbery  and  flower-garden  as 
they  lay  bathed  in  sunshine  and  sparkling  dew. 

But  presently,  springing  to  her  feet  with  a 
sudden  strength  of  resolve,  she  turned  to  the 
duty  of  the  chry,  which  was  to  prepare  for  the 
32 


A  Philosopher  at  Home.  33 

coming  journey,  upon  which  she  was  to  set  out 
on  the  morrow. 

And  so,  when  her  maid  came  two  hours  later, 
expecting  to  find  her  mistress  asleep,  as  would 
naturally  have  been  the  case,  her  pretty  cham- 
ber was  already  despoiled  of  most  of  those  orna- 
ments of  the  toilet,  that  are  nothing  in  them- 
selves, but  which  ladies  so  much  prize.  Things 
that  make  a  room  look  habitable  and  speak  in 
telling  manner  of  the  tastes  and  refinement  of 
its  occupant.  The  trunk  stood  there  packed, 
the  dressing  case  lay  ready  open,  so  that  little 
was  left  wherewith  the  chagrined  waiting- 
maid  might  busy  herself. 

"  Yes,  Madge,"  said  Lady  Alice  in  reply  to 
the  girl's  involuntary  exclamation  of  surprise — 
"  The  summons  has  come  for  me  to  join  my 
father,  and  1  have  made  haste  to  get  rid  of  this 
troublesome  luggage,  that  I  might  sit  down 
quietly  and  compose  mj^self  before  the  last  sad 
leave-takings  must  be  gone  through  with.  Do 
you  go  with  me,  Madge  ?  Not  that  I  would 
try  to  persuade  you." 

"  Och,  and  I  shall  though,  mi  leddie,  I'd  go 
through  fire  and  water,  ye  mind,  before  I'd 
leave  the  likes  o'  you  to  cross  the  sea  without  a 
woman  friend — a  poor,  humble  crathur,  though 
she  be  ;  and  that's  just  what  Madge  saj-s,  mi  led- 
die. If  parting's  to  be  done,  'tis  yourself  must 
speak  the  words,  in  troth— not  Madge,  ye  see." 
3 


34  Lang  Syne. 

Moved  to  tears  by  the  poor  girl's  devotion, 
Alice  could  but  warmly  thank  her  in  return. 
In  sooth  she  did  fee]  as  if  a  load  were  lifted 
from  her  heart  by  the  knowledge  that  she 
would  have  the  companionship  of  even  a  faith- 
ful, affectionate  servant  upon  her  lonety  voyage. 

After  some  slight  refreshment  which  she  had 
requested  to  have  sent  to  her  room,  as  she  did 
not  feel  equal  to  appearing  at  the  breakfast 
table,  she  threw  herself  upon  a  couch  and  for 
some  hours  slept  the  deep  sleep  of  exhaustion. 
When  she  awoke,  finding  the  watchful  Madge 
still  playing  the  sentinel  at  her  bedside,  fan- 
ning her  and  warding  off  the  approach  of  fly 
or  mosquito,  lest  it  should  disturb  her  slum- 
bers, it  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  and  a  smile 
upon  her  lips  that  she  started  from  her  recum- 
bent position.  But  this  first  pleasurable  emo- 
tion had  been  succeeded  by  an  agonizing  sense 
of  pain,  when  she  realized  with  the  lightning- 
like rapidity  of  a  return  to  full  consciousness, 
the  realities  of  her  situation.  Again  the 
though tf ulness  of  Madge  came  to  her  relief,  for 
in  a  trice  she  had  left  the  room  and  returned 
bringing  upon  a  silver  tray  a  delicate  draught  of 
iced  lemonade,  and,  moreover,  several  notes. 
At  the  superscription  of  one,  a  faint  blush  suf- 
used  her  cheek,  for  although  it  had  already  been 
opened  and  was  directed  to  Mrs.  Cadwallader, 
well  she  recognized  the  handwriting  of  Reginald 


A  Philosopher  at  Home.  35 

Lewis.  There  also  came  to  her  aid  (call  it  not 
folly)  that  enviable  faculty  of  youth,  which  ena- 
bles it  to  be  so  obliviously  happy  in  the  sunshine 
of  the  present,  as  to  have  no  ear  for  the  mutter- 
ing thunder  that  portends  the  coming  of  a  storm. 

The  note  informed  her  that  Reginald  Lewis 
had  been  appointed  to  take  charge  of  the  escort 
which  was  to  conduct  Lady  Alice  Germaine  to 
New  York.  The  writer  asked — since  he  had 
heard  of  her  intention  to  accompany  her  young 
charge  to  New  York — that  she  would  kindly 
notify  him  if  the  ladies  would  be  ready  for 
departure  at  day-light  the  following  morning, 
viz  :  July  6th.  This  exertion  seemed  necessary 
because  on  account  of  the  heat,  it  was  desirable 
to  travel  during  the  early  and  late  hours  of  the 
day,  resting  at  noon.  Mrs.  Cadwallader  had 
endorsed  the  note  with  a  request  to  know  if 
Lady  Alice  was  equal  to  undertaking  a  journey 
at  so  early  a  date.  Alice  deemed  it  more 
respectful  to  give  her  answer  in  person,  and 
repaired  to  that  lady's  room,  where  the  two  sat 
so  long  in  consultation  over  their  plans,  that,  ere 
they  were  aware  of  it,  dinner  was  announced. 
After  that  meal  had  been  discussed  not  much 
opportunity  was  left  for  repose  ere  it  was  time 
to  prepare  for  the  afternoon  appointment. 

At  5  o'clock  the  carriage  was  at  the  door. 
The  Cadwallader  family  coach  was  a  stylish 
one,  according  to  the  standard  of  the  day,  hav- 


36  Lang  Syne. 

ing  been  freshly  imported  from  England. 
High  swung,  it  was  painted  in  dark  green  with 
coat-of-arms  emblazoned  upon  the  panels  of  the 
door :  inside  it  was  lined  and  wadded  in  most 
luxurious  style,  although  we  do  not  pretend 
that  for  a  summer  afternoon-drive  it  compared 
in  comfort  with  one  of  our  modern  landaus  or 
open  phaetons.  The  horses,  four-in-hand,  were 
cream-colored,  the  trappings  plain  but  neat  and 
substantial,  while  the  driver,  footman  and  pos- 
tillion were  as  black  as  the  ace  of  spades,  and 
rejoiced  in  the  splendor  of  dark  crimson  livery 
with  buff  facings. 

Soon  the  ladies  were  ready,  and  rapidly  the 
splendid  horses  drew  them  through  the  long, 
shady  avenue  that  formed  the  approach  to  the 
mansion.  The  drive  into  the  city  over  smooth, 
finely-graded  roads,  occupied  only  about  half 
an  hour,  and  Avas  further  beguiled  by  the  deli- 
cious odor  of  the  wild  grape  and  crab-apple-tree 
blossoms  now  in  full  perfection  of  bloom,  as 
they  passed  along  between  the  hedges  dividing 
the  road  from  the  rich  fields  of  grain  and 
nuadowland  beyond. 

When  they  drove  up  to  the  "  Indian  Queen," 
the  first  hotel  of  the  city,  which  was  in  Third 
Street,  then  the  most  fashionable  neighborhood, 
the  ladies  alighted  and  repaired  to  the  hotel- 
parlors,  there  to  await  Miss  Lewis'  descent. 
Hardly  had  they  entered  the  room  when  their 


A  Philosopher  at  Home.  37 

attention  was  attracted  by  the  sound  of  military 
music  in  the  street,  to  which  the  Philadelphians 
had  not  yet  grown  so  accustomed  as  not  to  be 
moved  and  excited  whenever  it  was  heard. 
Both  ladies,  therefore,  took  their  station  at  the 
window,  too  much  interested  to  remember  that 
they  themselves  might  attract  the  gaze  of  the 
curious.  Closer  drew  the  music  and  louder  the 
tramp  of  horses  and  infantry.  There  had  been 
this  afternoon  a  grand  parade  in  front  of  the 
State  House,  not  only  of  new  recruits,  but  sev- 
eral fine  corps  of  volunteers,  who  had  been  for 
several  months  stationed  near  the  city.  Full 
of  fire  and  glowing  enthusiasm,  they  were  now 
returning  to  camp  to  the  animating  sound  of 
hautboy,  fife  and  drum.  Upon  the  same  occa- 
sion, Lieutenant  Lewis,  on  behalf  of  the  Com- 
mander-in-Chiefs Life  Guard,  had  received 
from  the  hands  of  a  special  deputation,  a  banner 
woven  for  the  presentation  by  the  Moravian 
Sisters  of  Bethlehem,  as  an  especial  compliment 
from  the  Sisterhood  to  the  body-guard  of  "  our 
good  General,  whose  life,  gentlemen,  may 
Heaven  and  your  valor  preserve."  And  now 
the  banner  was  borne  aloft  in  the  van,  and  on 
all  sides  were  heard  the  shouts  and  huzzas  of  a 
rejoicing  people.  The  standard  was  of  pure 
white  silk  on  which  was  painted  this  device — 
"  one  of  the  guards  is  in  the  act  of  receiving  a 
flag  from  the  Genius  of  Liberty,  who  is  person- 


38  Lang  Syne'. 

fied  as  a  woman  leaning  upon  the  Union  shield, 
near  which  is  the  American  eagle."  The  motto 
of  the  Corps  was  inscribed  upon  a  ribbon  in 
gold  letters.     It  was  "  Conquer  or  Die." 

In  breathless  interest  the  ladies  gazed,  uncon- 
scious of  the  picture  they  formed,  for  which  the 
embrasure  of  the  window  served  as  a  frame. 
Lady  Alice  wore  a  dress  of  spotless  white  cam- 
bric, which  gave  to  her  beauty  the  effect  of 
infantine  innocence  and  grace.  Her  hat  was 
of  dainty  white  lace,  wreathed  with  blue  forget- 
me-nots,  while  a  scarf  of  soft  blue  taffeta  cov- 
ered, although  it  did  not  conceal,  the  charming 
contour  of  her  exquisitely  moulded  neck,  shoul- 
ders and  arms.  Her  fair  hair  fell  in  ringlets 
that  received  a  golden  hue  as  they  were  seen 
in  the  light  of  the  departing  sunset  rays.  That 
vision  of  angelic  loveliness  returned  to  many 
who  that  evening  gazed  upon  her  for  the  first  and 
last  time,  but  how  shall  we  describe  the  feelings 
of  him  who  had  long  loved  her,  and  whose  pas- 
sion was  now  intensified  by  the  terrible  con- 
sciousness that  she  was  so  soon  to  be  torn  from 
his  gaze.  As  the  troops  defiled  along  the 
streets,  he  passed  close  beneath  the  window 
where  she  stood,  and  could  not  refrain  from  look- 
ing up  and  giving  a  soldier's  salute,  apparently  to 
two  ladies,  but  to  the  soul's  eye  there  was  but 
o:ie.  Just  at  this  moment  her  eye  had  caught 
th  j  stern  device  gleaming  upon  the  gaily  float- 


A  Philosopher  at  Home.  39 

ing  banner.  Her  dilated  eye  became  fixed,  and 
her  cheek  grew  pale.  At  the  same  time,  from 
her  loosened  hold,  fell  right  upon  her  lover's 
arm,  a  pale  sweet  rose  that  she  had  been  clasp- 
ing, but  now  forgot  in  total  abstraction  of 
mind.  It  was  one  of  those  accidents  to  which 
love  only  knows  how  -to  attach  value  and  sig- 
nificance. Oh  !  what  a  treasure -trove  was  that 
rose  to  Reginald — how  often  was  it  pressed  to 
his  lips  and  to  his  heart,  who  shall  say  ? 

But  in  another  moment  the  procession  had 
passed.  Attaway  Lewis  was  standing  beside 
her  friends,  all  affection  and  eagerness  to  be  off, 
with  a  young  girl's  impatience  to  witness  what 
is  novel  and  rare. 

"  But  where  are  your  squires,  dear  Mrs.  Cad= 
wallader;  are  we  to  set  forth  like  two  errant 
damosels,  with  never  a  knight  to  challenge  a 
wind-mill  in  our  service  ?  " 

"  Some  gentlemen  have  promised  to  join  us 
later,  Miss  Attaway,  and  so,  meanwhile,  you 
must  content  yourself  with  being  under  an  old 
lady's  wing." 

"And  no  hardship,  either,  permit  me  to  sa}% 
especially  since  you  are  to  guide  us  to  the  man- 
sion of  our  dear  old  philosopher,  whose  conver- 
sation is  worth  that  of  a  store  of  beaux."  After 
they  were  seated  in  the  carriage  again,  of  course 
the  events  of  last  night's  entertainment  had  to 
be  discussed,  and  so,  in  an  imperceptibly  short 


40  Lang  Syne. 

time,  they  reached  the  point  of  their  destina- 
tion. 

Dr.  Franklin's  house  was  upon  Market  Street, 
between  Fifth  and  Sixth  Streets,  separated, 
however,  from  the  street  by  a  court,  and  furn- 
ished with  the  luxury  of  a  large  yard.  A 
young  grandson  of  the  doctor,  a  lad  of  about 
seventeen  years  of  age,  a  pleasing  youth, 
handed  them  out  of  their  carriage,  and  they 
were  conducted  without  further  ceremony  into 
the  library,  which  we  must  pause  here  to 
describe.  It  was  a  large,  airy  apartment,  filled 
with  books  from  floor  to  ceiling,  although  for 
the  same  purpose  there  was  the  additional  space 
of  four  alcoves,  extending  two-thirds  the  length 
of  the  room.  On  the  top  of  the  book-shelves 
and  mantlepiece  were  arranged  the  busts  of 
various  distinguished  men.  In  a  conspicuous 
place  hung  the  portrait  of  Mrs.  Franklin,  who 
had  now  been  dead  some  two  years.  Curiosi- 
ties of  various  sorts  were  stowed  away  in  a 
large  glass  case,  which  yet  gave  a  full  view  of 
them.  Conspicuous  among  the  objects  of  inter- 
est were  the  Copley  gold  medal,  and  a  minia- 
ture of  the  King  of  France,  set  in  408  dia- 
monds and  presented  to  Franklin  by  his  Majesty 
himself.  This  wras  the  same  miniature  which 
he  afterwards  willed  to  his  daughter,  on  condi- 
tion that  neither  she  nor  her  daughters  would 
ever  wear  the  jewels  for  the  adornment  of  their 


A  Philosopher  at  Home.  41 

persons;  considering  it  unbecoming  in  repub- 
licans to  deck  themselves  with  such  "  vain,  use- 
less and  expensive  "  ornaments. 

Besides  philosophical  apparatus,  several  mu- 
sical instruments  were  in  view.  A  spinet 
stood  at  one  end  of  the  room,  upon  which  a 
note-book  lay  open,  while  a  flute,  violin  and 
bass  viol  lying  near  at  hand,  seemed  to  vouch 
for  the  musical  taste  of  the  family.  But  the 
central  and  most  conspicuous  part  of  the  room 
was  given  to  the  instrument,  a  trial  of  the  pow- 
ers of  which  was  to  furnish  the  entertainment 
of  the  evening. 

The  idea  of  the  Harmonica  was  suggested  to 
Franklin  by  seeing  a  set  of  musical  glasses  in 
London,  and  was  a  great  improvement  upon  the 
original.*  His  glasses  were  made  in  the  shape 
of  a  hemisphere  with  an  open  mouth  or  socket 
in  the  middle,  for  the  purpose  of  being  fixed  on 
an  iron  spindle  :  the  largest  at  one  end  gradu- 
ally diminishing  to  the  smallest  at  the  other 
end.  The  tones  depended  upon  the  size  of  the 
glasses.  The  spindle  with  its  sides  of  glasses, 
was  fixed  horizontally  in  a  case,  and  turned  by 
a  wheel,  attached  to  its  larger  end  upon  the 
principle  of  a  common  spinning-wheel.  The 
performer  sat  in  front  of  the  instrument,  and 
its  tones  were  brought  out  by  applying  a  wet 
finger  to  the  exterior  surface  of  the  glasses  as 

*  See  Spark's  Life  o£  Benjamin  Franklin,  page  26. 


42  Lang  Syne. 

they  turned  around.  He  called  it  the  Harmonica, 
in  honor  of  the  musical  language  of  the  Italians. 
The  instruments  were  afterwards  manufactured 
in  London,  and  sold  at  the  price  of  forty 
guineas  each. 

Our  party,  however,  were  not  long  left  in  the 
quiet  contemplation  of  the  objects  of  interest 
around  them,  for  very  quickly  Mrs.  Bache 
made  her  appearance,  coming  forward  with  out- 
stretched hand  and  beaming  smile  to  welcome 
her  father's  friends.  Miss  Davies  was  immedi- 
ately afterwards  announced,  and  in  a  few 
moments  Dr.  Franklin  himself  entered,  fol- 
lowed by  two  interesting  looking  children,  who 
were  presented  to  the  ladies  as  the  son  and 
daughter  of  Mrs.  Bache.  They  were  only 
admitted  to  the  parlor  on  this  occasion,  because 
.the  party  was  so  small,  and  both  their  mother 
and  grandfather  were  anxious  for  them  to  lose 
no  opportunity  for  hearing  music  and  cultivat- 
ing their  ears.  The  old  gentleman  and  they 
were  evidently  upon  the  easiest  terms,  and  to 
their  ingenuous  minds  the  sage  was  evidently 
lost  sight  of  in  the  charms  of  the  tender,  lov- 
ing companion.  Nowhere  did  Dr.  Franklin 
appear  to  greater  advantage  than  in  the  bosom 
of  his  own  family,  for  there  his  wit  sparkled 
and  flowed  in  unrestrained  gaiety,  and  yet  was 
tempered  and  softened  by  an  undertone  of  deep 
and  cordial  affection,  that  was  transparent  even 


A  Philosopher  at  Home.  43 

in  a  studiously  plain  and  simple  manner.  On  this 
occasion  his  long,  straight-cut  Quaker  coat  was 
relieved  by  a  shirt-front  of  snowy  linen,  that 
was  trimmed  with  ruffles,  as  were  likewise  the 
white  cuffs  that  were  plainly  visible  beneath 
his  coat-sleeve.  A  full  wig  adorned  his  temples, 
and  nothing  could  have  been  more  impressive 
than  his  benignant  and  yet  dignified  manner  of 
welcoming  beneath  his  roof  such  honored  and 
such  gentle  guests.  The  usual  salutations, 
however,  had  hardly  been  exchanged  before, 
with  the  straightforward  directness  of  his  prac- 
tical nature,  as  well  as  with  the  eager  enthusi- 
asm of  a  triumphant  inventor,  he  called  Miss 
Davies  to  her  place  of  performer  and  exhibitor. 
That  lady  responded  to  his  call  promptly,  and 
with  no  affectation  whatever,  she  speedily 
became  so  absorbed  in  her  task  as  to  evoke  a 
succession  of  such  sweet  and  harmonious 
strains  that  her  audience  was  spell-bound  and 
completely  entranced.  Wonder  and  awe  were 
mingled  with  the  delight  that  they  felt,  such  as 
Ave  experience  even  now,  when  beholding  and 
listening  to  the  inspiring  melodies  of  the  Swiss 
Bell-Ringers,  produced  somewhat  by  the  same 
process,  upon  similar  principles.  More  than  an 
hour,  then,  had  been  given  to  this  sweet  music, 
and  discussion  evoked  by  it,  when  Mrs.  Bache 
invited  the  little  company  to  repair  to  the 
court-yard,  where  beneath  the  shade  of  a  huge, 


44  Lang  Syne. 

overshadowing  mulberry  tree  a  charming  little 
banquet  had  been  spread.  Mrs.  Bache  took 
the  head  of  the  table,  to  pour  out  tea,  and  after 
the  guests  were  all  seated,  the  children  pro- 
ceeded to  wait  upon  them  in  the  most  simple 
and  engaging  manner.  Sweetly  they  urged 
their  acceptance  of  crackers,  cakes  and  bon-bons, 
which  the  young  ladies  especially  declared  had 
never  tasted  so  delicioushy  as  from  the  hands  of 
such  waiters.  There  was  indeed  something 
exceptionally  pleasing  to  the  romantic  mind  in 
thus  taking  tea  in  rural  style,  beneath  a  leafy 
bower,  and  under  any  other  circumstances 
Alice  Germaine  would  have  been  in  raptures; 
but  now,  how  could  she  enjoy  any  pleasure, 
even  the  one  most  congenial  to  her  taste,  when 
on  the  eve  of  bidding  farewell  to  the  friends 
and  scenes  which  she  had  loved  so  well. 

When  Mrs.  Cadwallader,  at  length,  spoke  of 
ordering  her  carriage,  Dr.  Franklin  said  that  he 
could  not  let  them  go  until  Lady  Alice  had 
favored  the  company  with  one  of  her  sweet 
songs;  for  besides  being  gifted  by  nature 
with  an  uncommonly  fine  voice,  she  was  a 
trained  and  skilled  musician.  With  a  sad 
smile  she  gave  consent,  and  to  the  accompani- 
ment of  a  guitar,  which  had  been  fetched  to 
her,  she  improvised  the  following  song : 


A  Philosopher  at  Home.  45 

SONG. 

What  means  the  sad  moan  of  the  billows, 
As  they  break  on  the  resonant  strand? 

Bear  they  tidings  of  heart-rending  sorrow 
To  some  stricken  soul  on  the  land? 

Tell  me  why  thou  art  drooping,  sweet  lily, — 

But  this  morning  erect  on  thy  stem  ? 
Woe  is  me !     Thou  art  withered  and  faded, 

And  my  garden  despoiled  of  its  gem. 

See  yon  fluttering  sparrow  affrighted, 

In  terror  hang  over  its  nest ; 
Can  there  be  for  such  innocence  danger  ? 

Little  homeless  one,  wherefore  distressed  ? 

Naught  there  is  that  the  earth  brings  of  gladness, 

But  there  folio weth  quickly  a  sigh, 
E'en  when  merriment  sparkles  must  brightly, 

We  know  that  dark  shadows  stalk  nigh. 

What  meaneth  this  weight  on  the  spirit 

That  whispers  of  evil  to  come  ? 
Why  should  billow,  breeze,  birdling  and  blossom, 

Such  message  bear  only  to  some  ? 

Hear'st  thou  the  sad  song  of  the  night-wrind 
That  fills  thy  poor  friend  with  distress  ? 

It  fears  me  that  trouble  is  brewing, 
E'en  while  thy  dear  hand  I  may  press. 


46  Lang  Syne. 

But  while  Alice  sang  her  audience  was 
increased  without  her  knowledge.  Reginald 
Lewis  and  Oswald  Caperton  had  come  silently 
up  without  her  perceiving  their  approach  since 
her  face  was  turned  from  the  direction  of  the 
house,  whence  they  came.  There  they  stood, 
entranced  by  the  sweetness  of  the  melody,  and 
one  of  them,  thrilled  by  the  tone  of  deep 
melancholy  pervading  the  strains  that  fell  upon 
his  ears. 

When  the  son?  was  ended  and  the  gentle- 
men  came  forward  to  present  themselves,  she 
arose  with  a  blush  that  enhanced  her  beauty, 
ordinarily  rather  too  statuesque  to  appeal  to  the 
softer  emotions  of  the  heart. 

Dr.  Franklin  exclaimed  against  her  breaking 
off  at  that  point  when  so  sad  an  impression 
was  left  upon  their  minds. 

"  We  thought  to  hear  a  nightingale,  and  have 
listened  to  a  stricken  dove.  When  the  soul  of 
melody  turns  into  a  cup  of  sorrow  at  the  very 
fountain  of  youth,  to  what  spring  can  old  age 
turn  whence  to  obtain  a  draught  of  gladness 
and  good  cheer?" 

"The  maiden  craves  the  old  man's  pardon, 
but  not  so  the  minstrel  of  the  sage.  Music  has 
tasted,  mayhap,  of  the  intoxicating  cup  of 
liberty,  and  will  not  be  held  responsible  for  the 
fit-fulness  of  mood.  What  say  you  to  that 
solution,  Doctor?" 


A  Philosopher  at  Home.  47 

"  Maybe  so,  Mistress  Alice,  but  prithee,  bring 
the  muse  to  reason,  and  sing  us  a  song  that  will 
make  us  as  merry  as  that  ditty  has  made  us 
sorry.  Then  her  power  will  be  proven  beyond 
dispute." 

"  The  minstrel  may  not  mend  her  mood 
to-night,  and  so  lays  aside  the  wand  of  power, 
hoping  that  some  mighty  hand  may  take  it  up 
and  make  glad  every  heart  in  this  house,  which 
she  has  deemed  the  very  abode  of  cheerfulness 
and  content.  Forgive  the  discord  she  did  not 
mean  to  make." 

"  A  trace  to  bandying  words  at  this  time," 
interrupted  Mrs.  Cadwallader,  looking  at  her 
watch ;  "  these  cavaliers,  it  seems,  came  but  to 
see  the  winding  up  of  our  pleasant  meeting,  not 
to  enjoy  the  feast  of  music  with  which  we  have 
been  favored.  Young  ladies,  we  must  be  on 
our  way,  or  else  my  good  man  will  be  made 
more  low-spirited  than  you  yourself  profess  to 
be,  Doctor." 

"  Good  bye,  pretty  minstrel.  When  next  we 
meet,  remember  you  owe  your  old  friend  a 
lively  song." 

"If  I  were  to  sing  one  embodying  all  the 
gratitude  I  owe  him,  it  would  be  lively  and 
sweet  enough.  To  have  been  privileged  to  call 
Dr.  Franklin  friend,  will  ever  be  held  by  me  to 
have  been  one  of  the  prizes  that  life  has  cast 
into  my  portion,"  rejoined  Alice,  more  moved  at 


48  Lang  Syne. 

saying  farewell,  than  she  was  willing  to  let 
appear. 

With  many  mutual  compliments  the  company 
dispersed,  the  young  gentlemen  escorting  the 
ladies  home,  although  they  could  not  enter  the 
house  on  account  of  having  to  report  at  camp 
at  an  early  hour. 

Attaway  agreed  to  spend  this  last  night  with 
Alice,  but  we  shall  not  intrude  upon  their  con- 
fidences, hoping  for  them  that  sweet  repose  so 
much  needed. 

Morning  speedily  came  with  its  bustle  of 
preparation,  hasty  breakfast,  sad  good-byes  and 
early  departure.  Alice  had  nerved  herself  for 
the  duties  of  the  hour,  and  did  not  give  way  for 
a  single  moment.  General  Cadwallader 
bestowed  upon  her  a  blessing,  paternal  in  its 
tenderness,  for  the  loveliness  of  her  character 
had  made  a  deep  impression  upon  him  during 
her  sojourn  under  his  roof,  and  it  was  with  sin- 
cere regret  that  he  saw  her  depart.  No  stronger 
proof  of  regard  and  consideration  could  he 
have  bestowed  upon  her  than  to  give  up  his 
wife,  in  her  behalf,  even  for  a  short  period. 
The  old  gentleman  and  Attaway  stood  upon  the 
front  portico  waving  farewells  with  their  hand- 
kerchiefs, until  a  bend  in  the  road  hid  the  car- 
riage and  the  occupants  from  view. 

Arrangements  had  been  made  for  relays  of 
horses  along  the  route,  that  the  journey  might 


A  Philosopher  at  Home.  49 

be  made  with  all  possible  speed,  for,  without  the 
knowledge  of  the  rest  of  the  party,  one  of  their 
number  was  acting  as  private  courier,  bearing 
Government  dispatches  from  Congress  to  Gen- 
eral Washington. 

And  so,  not  until  Reginald  Lewis  arrived 
would  the  official  announcement  be  made  to  the 
army  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence.  We 
must  remember  that  those  were  not  the  days  of 
railroad  and  telegraph. 
4 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IX   WHICH  TEARS   AND   SMILES   MINGLE. 

"  Acli  das  scheiden  giebt  uns  well."  Abt. 

But  "Hours  that  are  sweetest 
Are  ever  the  fleetest." 

And  so  it  was  with  the  two  clay's  journey  to 
New  York,  which  the  lovers  would  fain  have 
indefinitely  prolonged.  Speedily,  speedily  it 
came  to  a  close.  Mrs.  Cadwallader  sent  imme- 
diately to  notify  General  Washington  of  the 
arrival  of  herself  and  charge,  and  by  return 
courier  he  made  haste  to  place  a  house  at  the 
disposal  of  the  ladies,  adjacent  to  head-quarters, 
at  that  time  No.  1  Broadway,  near  the  Battery, 
where  the  broad  expanse  of  New  York  Bay  is 
seen  to  the  best  advantage.  It  was  dark  eve- 
ning ere  the  ladies  were  safely  housed,  and 
worn  out  with  the  fatigue  of  the  unwonted 
journey  both  slept  soundly. 

Early  next  morning  they  were  awakened 
from  sleep  by  the  booming  of  cannon,  ringing 
of  bells,  tramping  of  horses  and  every  sound 
betokening  a  popular  rejoicing.  The  cause  was 
soon  explained.  The  announcement  of  the 
Declaration  of  Independence  had  just  been 
made  public  in  New  York,  and  at  9  o'clock  A. 
50 


In  Which   Tears  and  Smiles  Mingle.       51 

M.  was  to  be  read  aloud  by  Washington  him- 
self, to  the  troops  who  were  all  to  be  mustered 
and  drawn  up  in  line  for  the  purpose,  and  it 
was  plain  that  the  enthusiasm  called  forth  was 
deep  and  genuine.  In  the  midst  of  all  his 
pressing  duties,  however,  Washington  did  not 
forget  to  provide  for  the  comfort  of  the  help- 
less young  creature,  who  had  been  so  strangely 
thrown  upon  his  care. 

By  flag  of  truce  he  had  notified  Lord  Howe 
that  Lord  George  Germaine's  daughter,  and  pre- 
sumptive heiress,  awaited  an  escort  to  enter  the 
British  lines,  that  she  might  rejoin  her  father 
in  England.  Alas,  for  Alice  !  How  her  heart 
sank  within  her  when  she  found  that  the  very 
friendship  of  her  powerful  protector  led  him  to 
display  such  eagerness — thinking  to  release  her 
from  a  painful  position — in  perfecting  arrange- 
ments whereby  no  time  should  be  lost  in 
delivering  her  into  the  hands  of  her  so-called 
friends. 

The  day  after  their  arrival,  General  Washing- 
ton, with  all  his  habitual  courtesy,  sent  to  ask 
if  he  might  be  permitted  to  pay  his  respects  to 
the  ladies  in  person,  and  they  were  only  too 
glad  to  have  this  opportunity  of  meeting  him 
who  was  already  the  idol  of  his  countrymen. 
Attended  by  his  nephew,  Reginald  Lewis,  both 
as  a  previous  friend  to  the  ladies  and  his  own 
aide-de-camp,  he  made  his  appearance. 


52  Lang  Syne. 

Save  bis  general's  uniform  and  the  imposing 
dignity  of  his  carriage,  there  was  nothing  in 
the  manners  or  address  of  the  quiet,  modest 
gentleman  before  them,  to  inform  them  that 
they  were  in  the  presence  of  a  popular  military 
hero.  He  regretted  that  Mrs.  Washington  had 
not  yet  arrived,  as  he  hoped  she  would  at  no 
very  distant  day,  that  she  might  have  aided  him 
in  giving  the  ladies  a  more  suitable  reception. 

Just  as  he  was  about  to  take  leave,  a  courier 
arrived,  bringing  the  intelligence  that  the 
British  escort  demanded  for  Lady  Alice  Ger- 
maine  had  arrived  under  flag  of  truce,  and  that 
they  had  orders  to  gain  the  lady's  consent  to  an 
immediate  transfer  of  herself  and  baggage  to 
the  boat,  which  was  now  riding  at  anchor  in  the 
bay.  Although  she  knew  the  summons  must 
come,  and  come  speedily,  Lady  Alice  was 
almost  overwhelmed  by  the  announcement,  that 
at  last  seemed  to  come  upon  her  with  all  of  the 
suddenness  of  an  unexpected  blow.  Yet  she 
recovered  her  self-command  ere  any  one  but 
Reginald  perceived  the  deadly  pallor  of  her 
countenance  and  the  trembling  of  the  delicate 
fingers  that  grasped  the  arm  of  a  chair  for  sup- 
port. To  both  it  was  one  of  those  moments  of 
supreme  emotion,  which  fortunately  can  not 
repeat  itself  often  in  the  space  of  human  life. 
The  heart  at  such  times  seems  to  assert  its 
supremacy   over    all    minor   considerations    of 


In  Which   Tears  and  Smiles  Mingle.       53 

etiquette  and  ordinary  routine.  Disguise  seems 
to  sink  into  its  native  littleness,  and  the  dread 
of  what  people  may  think  and  say,  to  be  wholly 
lost  in  the  instinct  that  compels  the  noble  mind 
to  be  true  to  itself,  and  the  promptings  of  dis- 
interested affection. 

General  Washington,  with  instinctive  deli- 
cacy, bade  adieu  in  as  few  yet  kind  and  fatherly 
words  as  possible.  Lieutenant  Lewis,  he  said, 
would  see  the  lady  safely  aboard  ship,  while  he 
would  himself  attend  to  the  proper  conduct  of 
whatever  other  steps  might  be  taken  for  her 
comfort. 

Mrs.  Cadwallader  declared  that  everything 
was  in  readiness  to  depart  at  a  moment's  warn- 
ing, and  craved  the  Lieutenant's  pardon  for 
leaving  the  room,  to  give  necessary  orders  to 
the  servants.  This  lady  was  herself  deeply  dis- 
tressed at  the  sad  necessity  which  was  to  sepa- 
rate her  from  her  beloved  }*oung  charge.  Not 
wishing  to  add  to  the  pain  of  parting,  she  was 
glad  to  escape  observation  for  a  few  minutes, 
and  iai  private  shed  the  tears,  from  whose  indul- 
gence her  motherly  tenderness  could  no  longer 
refrain.  Alice  she  requested  to  remain  in  the 
parlor  as  Madge  could  just  as  well  bring  down 
her  wrappings,  and  save  her  the  fatigue  of 
ascending  a  long  flight  of  stairs.  Left  alone 
with  the  idol  of  his  heart,  Reginald  could  not 
forbear  giving  vent  to  his  long  pent-up  feelings 


54  Lany  Syne. 

of  love,  devoted  love  to  her,  from  whom  to  be 
thus  parted,  he  now  declared  was  bitterness 
itself.  He  only  desisted  when  he  perceived  the 
fearful  struggle  which  was  going  on  in  the 
poor  girl's  breast,  and  felt  that  they  both  must 
indeed  summon  all  the  self-control  they  could 
command,  to  enable  them  to  go  through  the 
last  trying  scene  of  separation. 

"  Only  one  word  do  I  ask  from  yoxxv  lips, 
dearest  lady,"  said  he,  "  to  sustain  me  during 
the  long,  long  days  when  I  may  no  more  be 
gladdened  by  the  sunshine  of  your  countenance. 
Only  say  that  you  are  not  wholly  indifferent 
to  me,  for  I  have  the  conviction  that  such  a 
sweet  assurance  will  be  as  a  talisman  against 
doubt,  yes,  even  against  despair." 

With  a  gesture  of  grief,  heart-rending  to 
behold,  and  yet  smiling  through  her  tears,  Alice 
extended  her  hand,  took  from  her  finger  a 
slender  and  curiously  wrought  gold  ring,  and 
tremblingly  placed  it  in  the  palm  of  his  hand, 
which  was  not  slow  to  clasp  that  of  the  donor 
and  imprint  upon  it  a  deferential  kiss  of.  grat- 
itude and  devotion.  With  a  flash  of  her 
wonted  brightness  breaking  through  the  gloom 
that  environed  her,  she  drew  back,  as  if  fright- 
ened at  the  concession  she  had  made  and  said 
half  playfully:  "  So  much  may  not  be  denied 
to  the  faithful  knight  of  the  damsel  errant. 
Let   him   know  that  while  that  ring   remains 


In  Which   Tears  and  Smiles  Mingle.       55 

intact,  the  heart  of  the  donor  beats  and  beats 
for  him." 

"  Oh !  the  cruel  fate,  replied  he  in  the  same 
strain,  that  prevents  the  knight  from  rather 
encircling  the  finger  of  his  lady-love  with  a 
gay  gold  ring,  which  were  fitter.  But  is  there 
no  token  which  he  may  leave  with  her  as  a 
guage  of  true  love?" 

"  A  lock  of  your  hair,  Sir  Knight,  is  all  that 
the  lady  asks,"  and  holding  out  a  pair  of  small 
shining  pocket  scissors,  she  bade  him  bow  his 
head  and  cut  with  her  own  hand  a  curl  of  his 
dark  brown  hair,  and  had  hardly  concealed  it 
within  her  watch-case  ere  Mrs.  Cadwallader 
returned,  followed  by  her  maid  laden  with  wrap- 
pings, in  which  they  soon  enveloped  her,  ami 
then  there  was  no  longer  any  excuse  for  delay 
in  proceeding  to  the  wharf.  At  the  door  they 
met  Oswald  Caperton  who  was  hurrying  in  to 
bid  Lady  Alice  good-bye.  Finding  that  they 
were  just  about  to  depart,  he  asked  leave  to 
accompany  them,  and  offering  his  arm  to  Mrs. 
Cadwallader,  they  led  the  wTay  and  thus 
afforded  Reginald  and  Alice  an  opportunity  to 
exchange  a  few  more  words. 

"  You  will  surely  wTrite  to  Attaway,  will  you 
not  ?"  imploringly  asked  he.  "  I  shall  at  least 
in  that  way  have  the  happiness  of  hearing  of 
your  welfare?" 

"  Dear  Attaway  !     You  may  depend  upon  my 


56  Lang  Syne. 

writing  to  her,  as  surely  as  if  she  were  my  own 
sister,  for  so  true  a  friend  has  she  ever  proved 
herself  to  be,  that  upon  our  correspondence 
rests  the  only  gleam  of  hope  that  shines  upon 
the  darkness  of  this  hour." 

"  Say  not  that,  I  pray  you.  Why  should  not 
your,  let  me  say  our  horizon  be  all  aglow  in  the 
bright  radiance  of  hope  ?  You  have  called  me 
your  knight;  think  you  that  Sir  Galahad  set 
forth  on  his  quest  of  the  Holy  Grail  with 
greater  ardor  than  shall  your  knight,  unworthy 
as  he  is  to  win  your  hand.  Be  happy.  Let  me 
ever  think  of  you  as  radiant  and  joyous.  Trust 
me,  we  shall  conquer  destiny  and  all  will  yet 
be  well." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  words  of  cheer.  They 
give  your  poor  friend  an  added  motive  for  try- 
ing to  bear  up." 

But  they  had  now  reached  the  busy  wharf.  A 
curious  crowd  were  gazing  and  gaping,  with 
unfriendly  eyes  enough  upon  the  trim  govern- 
ment pinnace,  that,  under  shelter  of  the  flag  of 
truce,  was  so  confidently  riding  at  anchor.  The 
broad  bosom  of  the  bay — how  calm  and  beautiful 
that  summer  evening.  The  rich  crimson  and 
gold  tints  of  the  brillant  sunset  clouds  were 
reflected  from  the  mirror-like  surface  of  the 
water  with  a  warmth  of  color  that  seemed 
insensibly  to  breathe  somewhat  of  brightness  and 
tranquillity  into    the    mournful   hearts   of   the 


In  Which  Tears  and  Smiles  Mingle.       57 

group,  who  stood  there  bidding  good-bye.  "  It 
may  be  for  years,  or  it  may  be  forever." 

But  why  linger  over  the  scene.  Who  shall 
portray  the  bitterness  of  those  young  hearts, 
then,  first  to  taste  of  so  deep  a  cup  of  sorrow.? 

Shall  it  be  drunk  to  the  dregs  ?  Or  through 
its  very  bitterness  be  transmuted  into  a  draught 
of  joy,  purer  and  sweeter  than  earth-born  mortal 
ever  quaffed  before ! 

A  gentle  pressure  of  the  hand,  a  long,  fond 
look  exchanged,  a  God  bless  you,  and  all  is 
over. 


Lightly  the  bark  rides  over  the  waves.  Mary 
Stuart  was  hardly  so  sad  as  she  gazed  upon  the 
retreating  shores  of  her  beloved  France,  as  was 
our  sweet  Alice.  For  had  not  she  a  kingdom 
to  look  forward  to,  kneeling  courtiers  and  flat- 
tering friends ;  but  this  poor  child  had  left  her 
all  behind,  and  as  she  watched  the  forms  of  her 
friends  as  long  as  she  could  see  them,  she  felt  a 
sense  of  desolation  that  almost  deprived  her  of 
consciousness,  and  made  her  sit  upon  deck, 
motionless  and  silent  as  a  statue,  until  Madge, 
her  faithful  servant  who  stood  by  weeping,  not 
daring  to  utter  words  of  consolation  but  filled 
with  deepest  sympathy,  finally  drew  her  away 
with  gentle  force,  and  prevailed  upon  her  to  lie 
down  and  rest  her  over-tried  and  weary  frame. 

Oh  !  to  lift  the  veil  of  the  future.     How  the 


58  Lang  Syne. 

unsolved  mysteries  of  coming  life  prey  upon 
the  spirit,  and  lead  it  with  yearning  to  cry  out. 
Oh  !  to  know  what  is  laid  up  for  me  in  that 
store-house  of  the  future.  Hope  whispers : 
You  shall  have  the  desire  of  your  heart  in 
fullest  measure.  But  while  the  smile  still  plays 
upon  our  features,  in  view  of  the  pleasing  pros- 
pect, lo!  a  phantom  has  appeared,  and  holds 
his  finger  up  and  hints — we  know  not  what — 
but  grim  fear  takes  hold  upon  us  and  we  are 
too  glad  to  Ml  back  and  catch  at  the  skirts  of 
doubt — anything  in  short — save  the  horrible 
certainty  of  coming  evil. 

Thank  God  that  we  may  not  lift  the  curtain 
from  the  future. 


CHAPTER  V, 

THE   SOLDIER'S    DREAM. 

To  some  rare  souls  it  hath  been  given, 

To  hear  at  once,  the  word  from  heaven, 

Which  felled  some  absent  loved  one  at  a  stroke. 

By  quick  sharp  sense  of  lo?s  the  lover  knows 

The  very  instant,  when  his  twin  soul  goes 

Into  the  limits  of  a  higher  sphere, 

And  leaves  its  fellow,  stricken— mourning  here. 

I  question,  but  his  heart  such  message  broke 

But  things  like  this  have  been,  and  may  be  yet  again. 

Anonymous. 

Reginald  was  doubtless  wretched  enough 
after  Alice's  departure,  but  the  duties  of  his 
responsible  post  were  too  wholesomely  engross- 
ing to  admit  of  an  over  indulgence  of  senti- 
ment. 

No  one,  to  look  at  the  elasticity  of  step  with 
which  the  young  soldier  moved  to  obey  the 
orders  of  a  superior  officer,  the  kindling  of 
enthusiasm  in  his  eye  when  deputed  to  perform 
some  difficult  or  perilous  undertaking,  would 
have  dreamed  that  his  spirit  was  oppressed  by 
a  secret  sorrow.  The  consciousness  of  being 
loved  seemed  to  endue  him  with  energies  and 
strength  of  resolve  hitherto  lying  dormant. 
Nothing  seemed  to  daunt— nothing  to  dishearten 
him.  Privations  of  which  there  were  plenty, 
anxieties  that  were  not  few,  seemed  to  have  no 
power  to  quench  the  ardor  or  the  hope  of  his 
59 


60  Lang  Syne. 

spirit.  Nearly  related  to  Washington  as  he  was, 
he  seemed  to  partake  in  peculiar  measure  of 
the  qualities  of  his  mind — the  same  power  of 
self  control — the  same  rigid  adherence  to  the 
requirements  of  duty,  and  the  same  un parallelled 
modesty. 

Oswald  Caperton  had  ever  been  his  insepa- 
rable friend  in  boyhood,  and  now  as  brothers  in 
arms,  their  attachment  seemed  to  deepen. 
They  occupied  a  tent  with  two  other  officers, 
and  managed  to  lighten  each  other's  cares  and 
perplexities  in  many  and  comfortable  ways. 

More  than  three  months  had  elapsed,  since 
Lady  Alice  had  been  sent  to  Staten  Island 
within  the  British  lines,  and  yet  not  a  word  had 
been  heard  of  her  further  progress.  Letters 
came  from  Mrs.  Cadwallader  and  Attaway. 
expressing  the  keenest  anxiety  to  get  some  news 
of  the  dear  friend,  about  whose  welfare  they 
could  not  help  feeling  the  deepest  solicitude. 

It  was  one  dark  October  night,  the  camp 
fires  burnt  low,  or  rather  had  been  wholly 
extinguished  by  the  driving  rain  which  for 
hours  had  been  falling  in  torrents,  while  every 
now  and  then  a  fierce  gust  of  wind  seemed  to 
threaten  to  tear  up  every  tent,  and  lay  them 
flat  on  the  ground.  Still  the  soldiers  foi  the 
most  part  slept  heavily,  wrapped  up  head  and 
ears  in  their  dusky  blankets. 

Suddenly  Oswald  Caperton  was  awakened  by 


The  Soldier  s  Bream.  61 

hearing  Reginald  breathing  very  heavily,  then 
with  a  suppressed  groan  he  saw  him  wringing 
his  hands  as  though  in  an  agony  of  grief,  and 
upon  going  to  his  side,  he  perceived  that  he  was 
fully  awake,  but  his  countenance  so  fearfully 
altered  that  in  the  course  of  a  few  moments,  he 
seemed  to  have  gone  through  the  sufferings  of  a 
lifetime.  Stooping  down  by  his  side,  he  whis- 
pered, in  order  not  to  awaken  their  sleeping 
companions : 

"  Dear,  dear  Reginald,  what  is  the  matter? 
Tell  your  friend;  tell  your  brother/' 

"  Not  here  !  Not  here  !  "-he  cried,  hastily  rising 
and  casting  about  him  his  soldier's  cloak.  "  It 
is  stifling  here  ?  Come  out  into  the  forest ;  I'll 
tell  you  there/' 

"  But  it  is  raining  dreadfully.  You  must  be 
ill.     It  will  be  the  death  of  you." 

"  Come  !  Only  come  !  "  He  was  trembling 
violently,  and  when  he  looked  down  at  his  hand 
and  saw  that  his  ring  was  gone,  a  fresh  expres- 
sion of  horror  escaped  his  lips. 

"  ^Sly  ring,  Oswald,  Oh  !  where  is  my  ring?  " 

Groping  on  the  floor,  aided  by  the  faint 
glimmer  of  the  flickering  candle  which  burnt 
low  in  its  socket,  Oswald  at  last  discovered  the 
ring,  rather  its  fragments,  for  alas,  it  had 
snapped  in  twain.  Convulsively  Reginald 
seized  the  pieces,  tried  vainly  to  see  if  they 
would    reunite,    and    again    groaned    heavily. 


62  Lang  Syne. 

Seeing  one  of  the  sleepers  begin  to  move  rest- 
lessly, Oswald  no  longer  resisted  his  friend's 
importunity,  but  followed  him,  as  with  disor- 
dered steps  he  bent  his  way  towards  the  forest, 
which  lay  within  a  few  hundred  yards  of  the 
camping  ground.  One  solitary  sentinel  only 
challenged  them  as  he  trod  his  lonely  beat 
despite  the  opposition  of  the  warring  elements. 
Giving  the  countersign  Oswald  passed  him  how- 
ever, without  more  than  eliciting  an  ejaculation 
of  surprise,  as  he  saw  two  officers  abroad  on 
such  a  night  and  in  such  guise. 

Under  the  shelter  of  an  overarching  oak, 
where  a  great  flat  rock  furnished  a  natural 
resting  place,  Reginald  at  last  paused.  He 
bared  his  head  and  breast  and  seemed  to  gasp  for 
breath,  nor  was  it  until  some  little  time  had 
elapsed  that  he  could  articulate;  even  then, 
doubtless,  he  was  aided  too  by  the  soothing  con- 
sciousness, that  he  had  at  his  side  a  friend  who 
deeply  sympathized  with  him  in  every  feeling. 
At  last  he  broke  silence : 

"It  cannot — Oh  !  it  cannot  be  true  !" 

"  What  ?     Can  what  be  true  ?  " 

"  Oh !  that  vision,  that  terrible  vision  of  the 
night !  " 

"  As  the  wind  howled  and  whistled  around 
us,  ere  I  fell  asleep — so  it  seemed  to  do  in 
my  dream.  At  last  I  was  uplifted  and  borne 
upon  the  breath  of  the  fierce  north  wind,  into 


The  Soldiers  Dream.  63 

what  seemed  the  very  cave  of  iEolus,  where 
warring  elements  were  in  angry  contention, 
and  where  I  seemed  but  the  mere  unnoted  play- 
thing of  tempest,  storm  and  rushing  whirl- 
wind. But  I  seemed  to  be  devoid  of  feeling  on 
my  own  account — bereft  of  sensibility  to  the 
horrible  nature  of  my  surroundings.  All  my 
faculties  were  absorbed  by  one  dread  anxiety  ; 
for  beneath  me  I  saw  a  ship  bravely  battling 
with  her  destiny.  A  mountain- shaped  iceberg 
was  plowing  its  steerless  course  right  across 
her  track.  In  letters  of  living  fire  I  saw  the 
name  of  the  vessel  inscribed  upon  its  side : 
"  The  Amphrite."  I  recognized  it  at  once  as 
the  vessel  on  which,  Lord  Howe  had  stated  in 
his  dispatch,  that  Lady  Alice  should  take  pas- 
sage. In  breathless  suspense — chained  down 
myself  by  powers  invisible — I  awaited  the  col- 
lision— and  oh,  horrors  !  it  did  come,  witlr  such 
a  crash,  such  grinding,  groans,  and  shrieks  and 
screams.  But  amid  all  the  din  I  distinguished 
the  form,  and  heard  the  voice  of  my  own  sweet 
girl.  But  it  was  in  the  low  solemn  voice  of 
prayer  in  which  she  spoke.  She  stood  upon 
the  deck,  all  robed  in  white — her  fair  hair  flow- 
ing down  her  back,  her  feet  bare — and  at  her 
feet  crouched  poor  Madge,  the  faithful  girl  who 
would  never  be  parted  from  her  mistress.  Even 
in  that  moment  of  supreme  anguish,  the  lovely 
vision    thrilled    me  with,  a    painful  rapture   of 


64  Lang  Syne. 

delight.  Oh  !  'twas  heaven  just  to  gaze  upon 
that  angelic  form !  I  heard — Oh  !  I  heard  her 
breathe  my  own  name,  too,  in  accents  so  fond 
and  despairing.  But  then  a  cloud  came  in 
between  us — then  rifted — and  last  of  all  I  saw 
her  face  lit  up  with  such  a  smile  of  hope  and 
love  as  I  never  saw  before  on  human  counte- 
nance, not  even  hers.  She  beckoned  to  me 
with  a  smile  of  seraphic  sweetness,  and  radiant 
welcome.  And  lo !  the  vision  faded  and  was 
gone.  Darkness,  tumult  and  despair  again 
held  sway ;  and  then  I  awoke.  Oh !  Oswald, 
Oswald,  you  know  the  rest !  " 

"  Dear  Reginald,  why  mind  the  vagaries  of  a 
dream?  Your  Alice  may  have  long  ere  this 
been  safely  landed  in  England.  Do  not  give 
way  in  this  unmanly  fashion.  Do  you  think  it 
becomes  a  soldier — a  nephew  of  Washington — 
to  shake  like  an  aspen  leaf  before  the  unreal 
fantasies  of  a  dreaming  brain  ?  It  is  not  like 
my  own  Reginald — my  true  soldier  boy." 

Reginald  only  shook  his  head  and  buried  it 
in  his  hands. 

"  Dear  friend,  I  cannot  shake  off  the  impres- 
sion; I  tell  you,  my  Alice  is  no  more.  This 
message  has  been  sent  me  ;  whether  in  mercy  or 
wrath,  God  only  knows.  But  you  speak  well 
Oswald,  I  must  remember  my  calling.  I  must 
endure  since  I  can  no  longer  hope.  You  need 
rest  yourself,  dear  boy.     We  must  to  our  places 


The  Soldier  $  Dream.  65 

again.  Forgive  me  for  so  selfishly  out-pouring 
my  griefs  in  your  ear;  you  have  your  own 
tender-heartedness  to  blame  for  it  only — for  I 
know,  you  feel  for  me — however  you  may 
blame  my  weakness." 
5 


CHAPTER  VI. 


THE    TUG    OF   WAR. 


In  Duty's  thorny  ways  lie  trod: 
Not  loudly  talked  of  love  to  God, 
But  meekly  did  his  will. 


From  that  night  a  change — inexplicable,  save 
to  a  very  few — seemed  to  have  been  wrought 
in  young  Lewis'  whole  nature. 

From  having  been  most  social  in  his  disposi- 
tion, he  grew  taciturn  and  seemed  altogether  to 
shrink  within  himself,  shunning  conviviality  of 
every  sort. 

A  settled  gloom  sat  upon  his  brow,  and  many 
feared  lest  he  should  siuk  into  a  hopeless 
melancholy.  All  that  seemed  to  save  him  from 
such  a  fate  was  the  activity  of  a  soldier's  life, 
which  insensibly  kept  him  from  being  wholly 
given  up  to  his  own  melancholy  reflections. 
We  shall  not  detain  the  reader  with  an  account 
of  his  participation  in  campaignings  whose  his- 
tory is  but  the  history  of  the  Revolution,  with 
whose  incidents  we  should  all  be  familiar. 
Suffice  it  to  say  that  this  young  soldier  allowed 
no  private  grief  to  interfere  with  the  perform- 
ance of  his  public  duty. 

During  the  long  winter  at  Valley  Forge, 
66 


The  Tug  of  War.  67 

which  so  tested  and  proved  the  mettle  of  the 
American  soldiery,  few  equalled  and  none  sur- 
passed Lieutenant  Lewis  in  the  fortitude  dis- 
played under  circumstances  disheartening  to 
the  bravest  souls.  Beautiful  was  the  patience 
with  which  he,  and  the  men  generally,  endured 
the  soul-trying  inactivity  of  that  terrible  season, 
the  cold  of  which  was  so  unprecedentedly 
severe,  even  in  that  bleak  Northern  climate. 

Touching  was  the  sight  of  that  youthful  face, 
so  stern  in  its  sadness,  and  yet  more  touching 
the  readiness  with  which  he  was  still  wont  to 
administer  consolation  to  others  wherever  he 
saw  it  was  needed.  Never  did  his  features 
relax  into  a  smile  unless  when  endeavoring  to 
rally  the  broken  spirit  of  some  homesick  com- 
rade, he  was  enabled  through  self-forgetfulness 
to  assume  a  cheerfulness  that  was  now  a 
stranger  to  his  heart. 

In  ministering  to  the  distresses  of  others,  he 
found  the  only  solace,  that  could  even  for  a 
moment  cheat  him  out  of  a  sense  of  his  own 
bitter  misery  and  desolation.  Blessings  were 
breathed  upon  his  name  by  many  a  poor  dying 
soldier,  that  he  had  aided  in  extremity,  and 
many  a  valuable  life  was  saved  to  the  country 
through  the  instrumentality  of  his  tender,  skil- 
ful nursing.  The  history  of  that  winter's  strug- 
gles and  triumphs  will  be  read  and  appreciated, 
while   there   is  one  heart  left  that  glows  with 


68  Lang  Syne. 

responsive  warmth  at  the  recital  of  deeds  of 
patriotism  and  self-denial. 

The  presence  of  woman,  too,  did,  who  knows 
how  much  towards  keeping  alive  that  religious 
fervor  of  devotion  to  country,  that  nerved  the 
poor  half-starved,  ill-clad  soldiers  to  such  endur- 
ance of  cold,  hunger  and  lack  of  all  home  com- 
forts. 

Mrs.  Washington,  Lady  Sterling,  and  Mrs. 
Knox  were  some  of  the  ladies  whose  presence 
cheered  and  sustained  the  often  sinking  spirits 
of  those  brave  men,  upon  whom  depended  the 
fate  of  the  embryo  United  States. 

Filled  with  concern  at  the  unhappy  state  in 
which  he  beheld  his  beloved  nephew,  General 
Washington  had  advised  his  wife  to  bring 
Attaway  with  her  to  Valley  Forge,  that  Regi- 
nald might  have  the  comfort  of  his  sister's 
sympathy  and  counsel  in  this  time  of  distress. 

Meanwhile  a  stray  English  paper  had  found 
its  way  into  camp  somehow  detailing  the 
account  of  the  shipwreck  of  "  The  Amphrite," 
and  moreover  mentioning  among  the  names  of 
passengers  lost,  those  of  Lady  Alice  Germaine 
and  her  maid. 

So  poor  Alice's  fate  was  no  longer  conjec- 
tural, and  what  was  passing  strange,  the  date 
tallied  exactly  with  the  night  and  hour  when 
Reginald  Lewis  had  been  first  pierced  with  the 
conviction,  that  she,  whom  he  had  adored  as  liv- 
ingr,  must  now  be  mourned  as  dead. 


The   Tuff  of  War.  G9 

Let  the  skeptic  mock — the  fact  stands  firm — 
the  historian  but  chronicles  incidents  that 
have  truly  come  to  pass — leaving  it  to  the  phi- 
losopher to  account  for  phenomena,  whose 
primal  causes  lie  far  beyond  our  ken. 

Attaway's  appearance  in  camp  was  indeed  a 
boon  to  more  than  her  afflicted  brother.  To 
what  shall  we  liken  the  effect  produced  by  the 
appearance  of  a  modest  girl  amid  such  an 
environment  as  was  hers  in  this  case?  If  we 
say  to  a  solitary  rose  amid  a  wilderness  of 
thorns,  we  would  not  overdraw  the  mark. 

Oswald  Caperton  felt  it  to  be  no  unfavorable 
time  to  press  his  suit,  sanctioned  as  it  was  by  her 
brother  as  well  as  uncle.  The  hours  of  social 
communion  were  sweetened  by  the  rareness  of 
their  coming.  And  when  the  camp  was  broken 
up  in  spring,  upon  report  of  the  British  evacu- 
ation of  Philadelphia,  it  seemed  as  if  the  pang 
of  setting  out  for  the  wars  was  renewed  on 
either  side. 

Under  Mrs.  Washington's  protection  Atta- 
way  still  remained,  and  the  place  chosen  for 
their  summer  retreat  was  a  delightful  New  Jer- 
sey farm  house,  selected  as  a  point  where  they 
could  probably,  better  than  elsewhere,  be  kept 
informed  as  to  the  movements  of  the  army — 
necessarily  so  uncertain — as  well  from  its  appar- 
ent security  of  position,  as  regarded  invasion 
by  the  enemy. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  BATTLE  OF   MONMOUTH. 

War  drives  her  bloody  chariot  on. 
Who  heeds  the  victims  trampled  on, 
Or  pauses  till  the  day  is  won  ? 

On  the  28th  of  June,  1778,  occurred  the  battle 
of  Monmouth,  one  of  the  most  brilliant  pas- 
sages at  arms  that  was  recorded  during  the 
war,  and  one  wherein  the  valor  of  both  armies 
was  fully  illustrated. 

Like  so  many  engagements  of  the  sort,  it 
took  place  on  the  Sabbath  day.  The  quiet  of 
those  sacred  hours  set  apart  for  rest  and  re- 
freshment of  soul  and  body  was  broken  before 
the  dawn  of  that  summer  morning  by  notes  of 
warlike  preparation,  ill  at  harmony  with  the 
spirit  of  the  scene  and  hour. 

Alas !  for  the  message  borne  heavenward  by 
the  lark,  wrho,  scared  from  his  happy  home, 
amid  the  grass  of  the  hitherto  pleasant  plains 
of  Monmouth,  fled  with  affrighted  cry  before 
the  dreadful  wrath  of  warring  man. 

Never  before  that  day  had  Washington  so 
plainly  asserted  himself  as  one  born  to  com- 
mand. When  through  the  apparent  miscon- 
duct of  Lee,  the  American  forces  were  in  full 
70 


The  Battle  of  Monmouth.  71 

retreat  before  an  exultant  foe,  with  the  strength 
of  his  own  mighty  will,  by  the  force  of  his  own 
resistless  energy,  he  executed  that  most  difficult 
of  all  military  achievements,  viz  :  made  a  fleeing 
host  stand  still — then  turn — and  go  back  with 
tenfold  fury  to  withstand  the  force  before 
which  they  had  just  cowered,  wavered,  and  re- 
treated. Lafayette  as  well  as  others,  attests 
the  fact  that  Washington  was  terrible  in  his 
wrath  that  day,  and  that  all  yielded  like  wax 
to  the  plastic  skill  of  his  formative  hand,  as 
with  incredible  rapidity,  quick  insight  and  com- 
prehensive genius,  he  wheeled  the  troops  about, 
and  led  them  on  himself  to  victory  and 
triumph. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  when  both  armies 
were  well  nigh  spent  with  the  sultriness  and 
overpowering  heat  of  the  clay,  as  well  as,  in 
many  cases,  by  a  fast  unbroken  since  the  night 
before,  the  British  lines  were  seen  to  be  giving 
way  on  all  sides,  and  now  was  felt  to  be  the 
critical  moment  for  deciding  the  fortunes  of  the 
day.  Victory  inclined  so  plainly  to  the  side  of 
the  Americans,  that  it  was  felt,  that  it  but  needed 
a  brisk  and  general  charge  of  Morgan's  cavalry, 
to  turn  what  was  a  check  into  a  complete  dis- 
aster to  British  arms. 

Washington's  quick  eye  was  the  first  to  see 
the  necessity  of  the  move,  and  calling  Reginald 
Lewis  to  his  side,  as  he  was  his  bravest  and 


72  Lang  Syne. 

most  trusted  aide-de-camp,  he  bade  him  speed 
to  General  Morgan,  and  order  him  to  advance 
to  the  charge,  without  losing  a  moment. 

To  be  ordered  was  with  Reginald  to  obey. 

His  splendid  bay  charger  that  had  borne  him 
in  every  engagement  during  the  war,  at  the 
gentlest  touch  of  rein  and  spur,  bounded  off 
at  full  gallop.  For,  a  veritable  war  horse, 
the  crackling  sound  of  the  rifles,  and  Avar  of 
musketry  and  cannon,  seemed  to  animate  him 
with  excitement,  uncontrollable,  save  by  a  yet 
stronger  devotedness  and  submission  to  the  will 
of  the  master  whose  weight  he  so  loved  to  sus- 
tain. 

How  swiftly  sped  the  horse  and  rider! 

Like  a  flash  of  lightning  they  darted  along 
the  darkening  line  of  troops  across  the  morass 
— past  Freehold  church — but  alas !  alas !  they 
but  sped  into  the  jaws  of  death. 

A  British  sharp-shooter  had  descried  this 
young  officer,  and  with  cruel  perspicacity  con- 
ceived that  his  errand  must  be  one  involving 
mightily  the  rebels'  interest  and  so,  malignly 
fired,  with  true,  sure  aim. 

Reginald  fell,  shot  through  the  breast,  his 
faithful  horse,  a  self-appointed  sentinel,  stand- 
ing over  his  body — in  woe  that  seemed  hardly 
speechless ;  for,  fondly  he  touched  first  the  soft, 
silky  curls,  that  lay  unheeded  across  the  marble 
brow — then    the   hand,   and   again,   lifting    his 


The  Battle  of  Monmouth.  73 

head  on  high,  tossed  his  mane,  and  whinnied,  as 
if  to  call  for  help. 

And  how  fared  it  with  the  message  ? 

In  vain  Washington  waited  for  the  appear- 
ance of  Morgan's  brave  men. 

In  vain  Morgan  waited  for  the  summons  he 
panted  to  hear.     It  never  came. 

With  that  priceless  young  life,  its  heart's 
blood  now  oozing  slowly  out,  by  the  roadside, 
in  the  dark  grass  of  the  gloomy  marsh,  perished 
Washington's  hope  of  this  time  gaining  a  com- 
plete victory  over  his  vaunting,  even  now, 
baffled  foe. 

Well  Washington  knew  the  reliability  of  his 
aide-de-camp.  As  soon  as  it  was  evident  that 
no  more  fighting  was  to  be  done  that  night,  he 
sent  out  an  especial  party  to  search  for  his 
nephew,  as  well  as  to  provide  for  the  wants  of 
other  wounded.  Terrible  was  his  anxiety — and 
sad  the  fulfillment  of  his  worst  apprehension. 

Oswald  Caperton  headed  the  reconnoitering 
party,  and  when  he  came  near  the  fatal  spot,  he 
needed  no  human  tongue  to  tell  him  the  brief, 
sad  tale  of  his  friend's  calamity,  for  when  he 
saw  Barbet,  Reginald's  well-known  horse  stand- 
ing as  we  have  described,  all  flashed  upon  him 
in  an  instant,  and  putting  spurs  to  his  own  jaded 
steed,  he  was  soon  bending  over  the  prostrate 
form  of  him,  whom  he  never  knew  before  how 
dearly  he   loved — chafing  his    cold   hands,  and 


74  Lang  Syne. 

endeavoring  to  staunch  the  blood,  that  was  yet 
flowing. 

In  this  he  succeeded,  but  Reginald  was  in  a 
swoon,  and,  for  some  time  gave  no  sign  of  return- 
ing animation,  much  less  recognition.  Not 
even  a  stretcher  was  to  be  procured  at  this  dis- 
tance from  camp,  so  that  the  men  could  only  make 
shift  to  extemporize  one,  hastily  constructed  out 
of  two  strong  poles,  covered  with  interlacing 
branches  of  trees,  over  which  one  or  two  gener- 
ous fellows  laid  their  own  coats  to  soften  if  pos- 
sible this  rough  and  hard  couch,  so  ill  fitted  to 
conduce  to  the  repose  of  their  wounded  com- 
rade. 

Slowly  the  sad  procession  moved,  and  bitter 
they  felt  would  be  the  tidings  to  their  chief, 
whose  cares  were  already  so  heavy  and  oppres- 
sive, that  observers  said  he  never  smiled. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


LIGHT  BEYOND. 


There  is  no  death— the  stars  go  down 

To  rise  upon  some  fairer  shore. 
And  bright  in  Heavens  jewelled  crown 
They  shine  forever  more. 

Bulwer. 

Oswald's  first  thought  had  been  of  Attaway, 
and  he  determined  to  get  her  word  that  very 
night,  of  her  brother's  sad  condition,  that  she 
might,  if  possible,  get  .to  him  and  see  him  ere  he 
died,  if  die  he  must — but  at  that  thought  he  was 
perfectly  unmanned  and  could  not  refrain  from 
bowing  his  head  and  weeping  bitterly. 

As  the  whole  army,  Washington  included, 
slept  upon  their  arms,  expecting  to  renew  the 
fight  next  day,  the  best  provision  that  could  be 
made  for  Reginald's  accommodation  was  in  the 
bare  hastily  erected  field  hospital,  where  already 
some  score  of  poor  fellows  were  paying  forced 
tribute  to  Moloch  in  the  shape  of  gaping 
wounds,  groans,  and  sufferings  intense. 

Leave  was  instantly  granted  Oswald  to  wait 
upon  his  friend,  and  more  than  once  that  night 
Washington  himself  bent  over  him  in  silent 
prayer,  and  no  pains  of  surgeons'  skill  or  nurses' 

75 


76  Lang  Syne. 

art  was  spared  to  restore  him  to  consciousness 
and  life. 

For  some  time  all  efforts  were  vain,  but  at 
last,  with  a  slight  convulsion  of  the  frame,  he 
opened  his  eyas,  and  touching  his  lips,  seemed 
to  ask  for  water.  When  a  little  had  been  given 
him,  he  was  evidently  revived,  and  pressed 
Oswald's  hand  several  times  without,  however, 
being  able  to  speak. 

And  thus  watching  eagerly  the  flickering  of 
the  feeble  flame  burning  low — Oh !  so  low  in 
the  lamp  of  life — Oswald  passed  the  weary 
hours  of  that  wretched  night. 

A  swift  courier  had  been  dispatched  to  the 
country  house  where  Mrs.  Washington  and 
Attaway  were  even  then  probably  anxiously 
waiting  news  from  the  dear  ones  in  the  army. 
For  less  than  thirty  miles  distant,  rumors  of 
the  battle  would  certainly  reach  them,  even  if 
the  cannonading  had  not  spoken  for  itself 
from  the  reverberating  hills.  Attaway  bore 
the  tidings  like  a  brave  girl  and  true  sister  as  she 
was.  Although  torn  by  grief,  she  was  up  and 
dressed  in  a  travelling  suit  before  her  wonder- 
ing attendants  could  believe  she  had  really  com- 
prehended the  nature  of  the  dread  summons, 
which  had  been  communicated  to  her  with 
hardly  an  effort  to  prepare  her  mind. 

Mrs.  Washington  longed  to  go  with  her 
niece,  but  dared  not  leave  her  present  quarters, 


Light  Beyond.  77 

without  express  directions  from  the  General. 
She  consoled  herself  by  making  up  a  large  bun- 
dle of  lint,  entrusted  to  the  courier's  care  a  case 
of  medicine  and  fine  old  French  brandy,  in- 
sisted upon  sparing  her  own  faithful  servants 
Caesar  and  his  wife,  Chaney,  to  attend  Miss 
Attaway,  and  with  the  tenderest  solicitude  pro- 
vided for  every  probable  want.  Her  own  car- 
riage, too,  was  put  at  her  service,  and  so  in  one 
hour  after  the  news  reached  them,  Attaway 
Lewis  was  on  her  way  to  see,  perhaps  for  the 
last  time,  that  elder  brother  who  had  from 
childhood  up,  been  her  pride,  closest  friend,  and 
ever  ready  protector. 

'  Not  until  left  quietly  to  her  own  reflections, 
as  they  drove  rapidly  on  through  the  night,  did 
she  realize  his  and  her  own  situation.  In  the 
midst  of  her  agony  she  could  not  forbear  breath- 
ing a  prayer  of  thankfulness  that  at  least  her 
uncle  and  Oswald  were  yet  spared  to  her 
unharmed. 

But  what  is  this  ? 

As  they  enter  a  deep  ravine,  passing  through 
a  dark  pine  forest,  the  horses  stop — the  postil- 
lion shouts — the  driver  curses,  and  the  small 
escort  of  two  soldiers  were  called  for  by  the 
startled  girl,  but  all  in  vain.  They  had  been 
seized  and  forcibly  detained  in  the  rear,  before 
they  had  time  to  fire  a  shot  in  self  defense. 

Dark  muffled  figures  were  seen  to  flit  to  and 


78  Lang  Syne. 

fro.  Torches  gleamed  and  distinctly  she  heard 
a  gruff  voice  bid  the  driver  "  Fork  over  every 
cent  of  money  he  and  his  cursed  baggage  car- 
ried, or,"  with  a  horrible  oath  he  swore  they 
should  "  never  leave  that  spot  alive." 

Suddenly  roused  in  this  disagreeable  manner 
from  grief  so  absorbing  as  to  almost  amount  to 
stupor,  Attaway  was  at  first  only  conscious  of 
one  pang  of  terror ;  quickly  succeeded  by  that 
lire  of  indignation,  and  impulse  of  resistance  to 
unlawful  power,  which  is  instinctive  with  heroic 
souls. 

In  a  moment  it  flashed  upon  her — what  she 
had  forgotten  totally  before— through  the  all 
absorbing  anxieties  of  the  hour — viz  :  that  she 
was  passing  through  Monmouth  Pine  Forest, 
the  very  district  infested  by  the  "Pine  Rob- 
bers,"  a  band  of  Tories,  who  had  thought  it 
virtue  to  waylay,  rob,  and  even  murder  unwary, 
patriot  travellers. 

Rapidly  going  over  in  her  mind  all  the  valu- 
ables in  her  possession,  she  remembered  the  sig- 
net ring,  which  poor  Lady  Alice  had  given  her, 
as  possessing  talismanic  power  over  any  British 
subject. 

With  feminine  tact  as  well  as  heroism,  she 
let  down  the  glass  window  of  the  coach,  only 
to  have  a  pistol  pointed  at  her  head.  Her 
spirit   roused  rather  than  intimidated  by  the 


Light  Beyond.  79 

insult,  she  demanded  in  firm  tone  to  see  the 
captain. 

"Hold!"  cried  she.  "You  know  not  to 
whom  you  offer  indignity !  Is  it  thus  brave 
men  meet  friends?" 

"  No  lies  to  me,  young  woman  !  "  said  a  huge 
black-bearded  ruffian,  coming  so  close  as  to 
make  Attaway  shudder.  "Jack  Fenton  calls 
no  rebel  friend." 

"  Do  you  resist  this  sign  of  authority  ?  "  said 
she,  feeling  her  courage  fast  dissipating,  and 
only  sustained  in  her  poor  attempt  at  dissimula- 
tion, by  the  agonizing  desire,  at  all  hazards,  to 
pursue  her  journey  and  get  to  her  suffering 
brother.  She  held  up  the  ring  before  him,  and 
when  he  had  examined  it  b}r  the  light  of  a 
flaming  torch,  and  recognized  the  device  of  the 
seal,  with  the  name  of  the  British  Governor 
engraved  inside,  he  evidently  began  to  waver  in 
his  evil  purpose,  and  with  sulky  ungracious- 
ness, returned  it  to  the  lady. 

Calling  to  several  of  his  men  by  name,  they 
withdrew  a  little  way,  and  seemed  to  be  in 
angry  conference.  At  last  Fenton,  who  had 
spoken  first,  came  back  to  the  carriage  door 
and  said : 

"  You  have  given  us  a  sign  of  authority  that 
we  gladly  yield  to.  If  a  rough  man  like  myself 
may  not  intrude  upon  a  lady's  secret,  yet  I  can 
not  see  anyone  plainly  so  high  in  Lord  George 


SO  Lang  Syne. 

Germaine's  favor  travel  through  this  unquiet 
country  without  an  escort.  If  you  are  truly 
England's  friend — pardon  the  doubt — but  two 
rebel  soldiers  rode  in  your  company  (and  here 
he  gave  a  scowl  that  was  hideous  to  behold  in 
the  lurid  glare  of  the  torch  light) ;  we  must  ride 
with  you  at  least  until  you  get  beyond  the 
rebel  encampment,  which  is  not  far  distant. 
For  how  could  a  friend  of  our  Governor  hold 
fellowship  with  his  enemies  ?  " 

To  this  implied  questioning  of  her  good  faith, 
Attaway  vouchsafed  no  reply.  But  what  could 
she  do? 

If  she  refused  their  escort,  it  was  to  betray 
herself;  if  she  accepted  it,  who  could  foretell 
the  consequences.  The  latter  course  she 
adopted,  and  why?  Because  her  woman's 
instinct  bade  her  congratulate  herself  upon 
every  mile  that  brought  her  nearer  Reginald, 
and  she  trusted  that  some  unforeseen  oppor- 
tunity would  occur  of  ridding  herself  of  such 
abhorred  companionship. 

In  silence  only  broken  by  the  gruff  voices  of 
the  men,  as  every  now  and  then,  they  uttered 
an  imprecation  on  the  bad  roads — bad  luck  of 
the  night — or  some  thing  so,  the  queer  caval- 
cade rode  on.  Csesar,  Chanej^,  the  driver  and 
postilion  strangely  enough  kept  their  counsel ; 
concealing  the  fact   that   they  had   in    charge 


Light  Beyond.  81 

"  Marse  Washington's  niece,"  more  through  fear 
we  apprehend,  than  any  prudence  of  wisdom. 

Just  as  the  gray  twilight  of  dawn  began  to 
show  a  pinkish  flush,  betokening  the  approach 
of  day,  they  reached  the  outposts  of  the  Ameri- 
can lines,  around  which  the  robbers  hoped  to 
skirt,  and  thus  effectually  prevent  any  attempt 
at  treasonable  correspondence  on  the  part  of 
their  fair  charge. 

But  soon  the  firing  of  guns  all  along  the 
advanced  lines  of  pickets,  showed  them  that 
the  approach  of  their  party  had  not  been  unob- 
served, and  that  the  army  was  upon  the  alert 
against  any  surprise. 

While  Fenton  conferred  as  to  the  next  move- 
nient  of  his  troop,  before  they  had  come  to  any 
conclusion,  the  road  seemed  suddenly  alive  with 
men. 

The  only  recourse  was  in  instant  flight,  for 
which  there  was  no  opportunity  given,  but  by 
striking  into  a  long  stretch  of  woods  to  the 
right.  Like  most  ruffians  they  were  cowardly, 
and  without  a  moment's  remorse  deserted  their 
defenceless  charge,  with  as  much  dastardliness 
as  they  had  shown  effrontery  in  its  assump- 
tion. 

A  cannon  was  pointed  at  the  fugitives,  and 
an  enfilading  shot  fired,  with  what  execution 
none  could  say. 

Caesar,  Chaney,  driver  and  the  whole  crew 
6 


82  Lang  Syne. 

found  their  tongues  immediately,  screaming 
with  all  their  might  to  the  troops  for  God's 
sake  not  to  fire  upon  them,  and  strike  their 
own  General  in  the  person  of  his  family. 

A  strange  form  was  in  the  van,  looking  yet 
more  strange  in  the  wan  light  of  early  morning. 
From  the  soldier's  cap,  officer's  sword,  and  mas- 
culine way  of  bestriding  a  horse,  you  would 
have  believed  you  saw  a  man  and  soldier,  but 
then  the  lower  part  of  the  form  was  draped  in 
petticoats,  and  evidently  belonged  to  a  woman. 
She  seemed  to  lead  the  party,  which  was  soon 
explained  to  belong%to  Livingston's  Regim.ent, 
2nd  Corps  of  Artillery,  U.  S.  A.,  and  the 
anomalous  individual  at  the  head  to  be  no 
other  than  Captain  Molly,  who  had  so  dis- 
tinguished herself,  and  that  under  such  trying 
circumstances,  as  to  win  for  herself  not  only 
the  merited  praise  of  the  whole  army,  but 
Washington's  word  of  approval,  besides  his 
bestowal  upon  her  of  a  sergeant's  commission, 
as  a  substantial  testimony  to  her  singular  gal- 
lantry. 

The  brave  creature  had  seen  her  husband 
shot  down  as  he  stood  at  his  gun,  preparing  to 
fire.  Instead  of  yielding  to  womanly  grief,  she 
rushed  forward  herself  and  took  his  vacant 
post,  and  managed  her  piece  with  such  dex- 
terity and  skill,  as  to  elicit  the  wonder  and 
admiration  of  all  that  witnessed  her  well-aimed, 


Light  Beyond.  S3 

if  untutored  efforts  to  turn  the  scale  of  victory 
against  her  foes.  When  the  fighting  was  over 
for  the  day,  and  she  retired  to  her  lonely  tent, 
the  rights  of  nature  asserted  themselves,  and 
she  threw  herself  on  the  ground  weeping  and 
wailing,  with  all  the  abandon  of  a  warm-hearted 
daughter  of  Erin.  The  excitement  of  the  day 
had  been  too  much  for  even  her  stalwart  frame, 
and  steady  nerves,  and  unable  to  sleep,  she  had 
been  among  the  first  to  hear  the  sentinel's  alarm 
shot,  and,  in  a  trice  was  upon  the  field  of 
action.  After  the  robbers  were  put  to  flight, 
she  rode  up  to  the  carriage  door  to  see  who  its 
occupants  might  be,  and  what  further  was  to  be 
done.  When  it  had  been  explained  that  this 
was  the  sister  of  Lieutenant  Lewis  hurrying  to 
his  bedside,  nothing  could  exceed  the  alacrity 
with  which  Captain  Molly  proposed  to  be  their 
guide  to  the  very  spot,  which  was  now  not 
more  than  one  mile  distant. 

So  great  was  the  prejudice,  at  that  time, 
against  woman's  assumption  of  any  of  the 
so-called  rights  of  man,  that  Attaway  felt  a 
greater  indisposition  to  confide  in  this  anoma- 
lous creature,  on  account  of  her  belonging  to 
the  same  sex. 

The  color  of  Molly's  naturally  florid  com- 
plexion was  further  heightened  by  the  fever  of 
grief  and  excitement,  through  which  she  had 
just  passed.     Her  short  red  curly  hair  looked 


84  Lang  Syne. 

very  mannish  beneath  her  soldier's  cap,  her  coat 
was  the  common  blue  uniform  of  our  army,  and 
the  rather  short  stout  petticoat  was  bedraggled 
with  blood  and  mire  of  yesterday's  conflict. 

It  was  almost  with  a  shudder  of  disgust  that 
the  refined  Attaway  felt  disposed  to  turn  from 
this  new  volunteer  protector.  But  the  first 
word  Captain  Molly  spoke  disarmed  her  preju- 
dice, and  touched  a  chord  of  sympathy  in  her 
tender  nature. 

"  Och  lady  !  and  is  it  that  the  likes  of  you 
must  be  after  going  through  saynes  that  rend 
the  soul  of  a  poor  rough  body  like  myself? 
And  belave  it,  I  saw  my  own  brave  man  struck 
down  yesterday  jist  forninst  me.  But  God  for- 
give me  many  a  Britisher  fell  in  his  tracks 
before  Mike's  gun." 

"An' is  it  your  brother,  lady,  that  is  lying 
low?" 

"  Alas,  yes,  good  woman  ;  "  replied  Attawnv, 
"  and,  if  you  please,  lose  no  time  in  leading  me 
to  his  tent.  It  misgives  me,  that  he  may  already 
be  no  more.  Oh  !  the  bitter  agony  of  this  sus- 
pense !  " 

"  God  bless  your  ladyship ;  An'  not  a  mo- 
ment will  Molly  lose  in  guiding  ye  to  the  place. 
I  know  the  sight  of  ye  will  do  the  sick  man 
good."  And  she  bowed  her  head  down  to  the 
saddle  bow  and  wrung  her  hands  in  a  sudden 
fit   of   anguish,   as   she    remembered    her   own 


Light  Beyond.  85 

desolate  state,  and  that  poor  Mike  had  reached 
that  bourne  where  the  voice  of  wife  and  sister 
could  neither  soothe  or  comfort  more. 

"  Poor  woman  !  "  said  Attaway  vainly  trying 
to  console  her,  "  Remember  that  your  husband 
has  died  a  patriot's  death.  And  you  by  taking 
his  place  so  nobly,  you  yourself  will  share  in  the 
gratitude  which  we  all  feel  to  him  ;  yes,  must 
feel  to  whomsoever  gives  his  blood  for  our 
country." 

44  Arrah  its  cold  comfort !  as  ye  know  yeself 
lady,  but  as  the  praste  tills  me,  4  God's  will  be 
done.'  But,"  added  she,  without  a  moment's 
pause  her  bright  eye  kindling,  "  Bad  'cess  to 
all  traitors  !  'an  its  this  arrum  that'll  never 
lay  down  its  musket  until  Molly  lies  low  or 
sees  our  blissed  Gineral  conquer,  and  ivrey 
wretch  driven  beyant  the  seas,  as  would  chain 
us  to  proud  England's  skirts." 

And  now  as  they  drew  near  to  the  hospital 
tent,  marked  by  the  yellow  flag  flying  from  its 
pinnacle,  Attaway's  agony  of  suspense  became 
too  great  to  admit  of  her  exchanging  a  word 
with  her  strange  companion.  She  feared  that 
all  mio^ht  now  be  over. 

The  carriage  was  now  halted  a  few  yards 
from  the  entrance,  and  when  Oswald  came 
out  to  assist  her  in  alighting,  she  almost  fell 
fainting  in  his  arms. 

He   only  pressed  her  hand,  and    whispered, 


86  Lang  Syne. 

"Oh!  How  thankful  he  will  be  that  you  have 
come  !     Bless  you  for  making  the  effort." 

These  few  words  lifted  a  weight  of  woe  from 
her  heart,  and  buoyed  up  by  the  faint  glimmer 
of  hope  thus  given  her,* as  well  as  by  the  near- 
ness of  that  other  friend,  she  walked  bravely 
into  the  room  already  hallowed  by  the  brood- 
ing presence  of  the  angel  of  death. 

Reginald  lay  on  a  low  couch,  supported  by 
extempore  cushions,  such  as  the  scanty  supplies 
of  the  Continental  Army  afforded.  Yet  his  eye 
shone  with  a  serene  and  brilliant  lustre,  and  a 
smile  lit  up  his  features  unearthly  in  its 
radiance. 

"  God  bless  you,  little  sister,"  he  murmured. 
"You're  just  in  time  to  say  good-bye  and  let  me 
have  my  last  earthly  wish  gratified.  Let  the 
clergyman  be  called ;  he  is  not  far  off.  Just  kneel 
down  both  of  you,  and  let  me  place  Attaway's 
hand  in  yours  Oswald— then  I  shall  depart  with- 
out a  care,  for  I  shall  know  that  she  will  want 
for  no  earthly  source  of  happiness.  Take  care 
of  Barbet,  Oswald.     He  is  yours." 

All  this  was  spoken  slowly  and  with  effort. 

Meanwhile  the  summoned  clergyman  had 
come.  In  deepest  emotion  the  two  knelt  on 
either  side  of  the  humble  couch,  and  felt  that  their 
union  would  acquire  a  double  sacredness  from 
their  vows  having  been  exchanged  in  Reginald's 
presence,  and  at  his  desire. 


Light  Beyond.  87 

When  the  short,  beautiful  marriage  service 
was  ended,  Reginald  drew  a  deep  breath  of 
contentment. 

"  I  am  tired  now.  I  think  I  will  go  to  sleep. 
But  no,"  he  added  in  an  altered  tone,  I  am 
going  where  there  is  no  night,  no  sleep."  Once 
more  he  cast  a  long,  fond  look  upon  the  dear 
ones  at  his  side,  and  waved  his  hand  to  them  in 
token  of  farewell,  then,  as  if  he  had  beheld  some 
lovely  vision,  stretched  both  hands  upwards 
and  with  a  face  actually  luminous  with  joy,  fell 
back  and  expired. 

The  faithful  friends  who  laid  out  the  loved 
form  of  their  comrade,  found  in  a  large  gold 
locket  next  his  heart,  a  faded  rose — a  broken 
ring.  We  know  what  they  knew  not,  the  sig- 
nificance of  these  tokens.  Bat  they  were 
reverentially  preserved,  and  with  the  addition 
of  a  curl  of  his  own  beautiful  hair  handed  to 
Attaway,  who  we  may  well  believe  watered 
them  with  her  tears. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

CONCLUSION. 
Peace,  blessed  peace  rings  in  her  voice. 


Schiller. 


Seldom  does  it  fall  to  the  lot  of  man,  to  have 
his  cup  of  joy  so  full  as  was  that  of  Washing- 
ton, upon  his  return  to  Mount  Vernon,  at  the 
close  of  the  war,  which  happy  event  took  place 
on  Christmas  Eve,  1783.  For  more  than  seven 
years  he  had  been  a  stranger  to  the  home  he 
loved  so  well,  and  no  one  who  saw  the  serenity 
of  contentment  which  sat  upon  his  brow,  so 
soon  as  he  turned  his  face  homewards,  could,  for 
a  moment  doubt  that  he  had  been  perfectly 
sincere  in  his  oft-repeated  statement  that  he 
much  preferred  the  quiet  pursuits  of  the  country 
gentleman  to  the  heavy  burdens  of  public  life, 
however  gilded. 

Oftentimes  attacked  by  the  calumnies  of  the 
envious,  his  pure  motives  impugned — the  wis- 
dom of  his  actions  called  in  question — he  had 
borne  all  patiently,  unmurmuringly.  He  had 
submitted  to  live  in  the  constant  turmoil  of  war 
and  politics  for  his  dear  country's  sake,  but  in 
his  heart  of  hearts,  next  after  that  conscious- 
ness of  rectitude  which  furnished  his  soul  with 
88 


Conclusion.  89 

so  firm  a  stay  against  the  assaults  of  his  enemies, 
he  found  the  surest  refuge  from  troublous 
thoughts  in  forgetting  the  trying  scenes  by 
which  he  was  surrounded  and  looking  forward 
to  Mount  Vernon — his  dear  Virginia  home — as 
a  haven  of  repose,  a  very  paradise  of  content. 
And  now  that  long  hoped-for  day  was  come. 

The  Government  boat  which  had  been  placed 
at  his  Excellency's  service  in  New  York  to  con- 
vey him  home  by  sea,  seemed  to  bear  him  but 
slowly  to  the  long-wished  for  goal.  Others  on 
board  besides  himself  were  impatient  to  reach 
that  hallowed  spot. 

Oswald  Caperton,  now  a  colonel  in  the  army, 
stood  by  his  side  on  deck,  yet  more  eager  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  one,  who  he. well  knew 
would  also  be  there  to  give  him,  too,  a  welcome 
home. 

So  well  known  was  Washington's  dislike  to 
all  parade  and  display,  that  the  people  all 
around,  with  genuine  delicacy  had  agreed  to 
give  him  no  public  reception,  just  at  first,  but 
allow  their  beloved  General  in  privacy  and 
quiet  to  receive  his  first  welcome  in  the  bosom 
of  his  own  family. 

Alread}^  from  the  landing,  the  gentlemen 
could  see  the  familiar  expanse  of  green  lawn, 
dotted  with  many  an  evergreen  planted  by  the 
master's  own  hand,  then  the  house  came  in 
view,  and  on  the  portico  overlooking  the  river 


90  Lang  Syne. 

a  family  group  awaited  them,  whose  central 
point  of  interest  was  of  course  two  tall  and 
graceful  female  forms. 

The  carriage  and  four  stood  ready  on  the 
wharf — Old  Csesar  grinned  from  ear  to  ear,  as 
he  bowed  and  scraped  his  humble  greeting,  the 
while  caressing  the  splendid  carriage-  horses  at 
whose  heads  he  stood,  finding  it  hard  in  his 
childish  vanity  to  refrain  from  calling  the  Gen- 
eral's attention,  the  very  first  thing  to  the  fine 
order  in  which  he  had  kept  those  same  horses 
"  jes  for  Marser's  sake  ;  he  do  set  such  store  by 
dumb  critters,"  he  used  to  say.  And  keeping 
them  fat  and  sleek,  the  old  fellow  had  overcome 
laziness  enough — heaven  knows. 

But  when  Oswald  caught  sight  of  Barbet, 
standing  saddled  and  bridled  on  the  shore,  held 
by  a  groom  in  livery,  he  could  no  longer 
restrain  his  impatience,  which  was,  however, 
mingled  with  emotions  of  the  saddest  nature. 
Jumping  ashore,  even  before  the  boat  was  made 
fast  to  her  moorings,  he  ran  up  the  bank  to 
greet  poor  Reginald's  pet.  One  would  almost 
have  believed  the  recognition  was  mutual,  as 
the  horse  stood  there  with  arched  neck  and 
pawing  hoof,  looking  more  intelligent  and  beau- 
tiful than  ever.  Tenderly  Oswald  stroked  the 
flowing  mane,  nor  felt  ashamed  of  the  tears  that 
filled  his  eyes  at  the  memories  evoked.  Leap- 
ing into  the  saddle,  the  General's  smiling  per- 


Conclusion.  91 

mission  having  been  extended,  he  galloped  on 
and  was  soon  receiving  the  warmest  of  wel- 
comes from  his  wife  and  aunt. 

When  General  Washington  arrived  Oswald 
was  in  place  to  assist  him  to  alight,  and  proudly 
presented  his  fair  young  wife,  whom  he  now  for 
the  first  time,  felt  to  be  his  very  own. 

Mrs.  Washington's  exterior  was  calm,  and 
yet  there  was  a  light  in  her  eye  and  a  benig- 
nant smile  irradiating  her  countenance  that 
betokened  a  heart  overflowing  with  bliss. 

A  host  of  colored  people  of  all  ages  were 
assembled  on  either  side  of  the  carriage-way, 
bowing  and  smiling  and  giving  every  possible 
demonstration  of  delight  upon  the  return  home 
of  a  master  whom  they  loved  as  much  as  they 
reverenced.  Well  they  knew  that  each  one 
would  get  his  Christmas  gift  on  the  morrow, 
besides  plenty  of  good  things  at  the  holiday 
feast  which  was  always  spread  for  every  creature 
upon  the  plantation,  on  the  day  that  commem- 
orated our  Savior's  birth.  Following  this  would 
come  a  whole  week's  respite  from  work,  and 
after  that  New  Year's  Day  when  many  a  bright 
silver  piece  would  fall  into  the  hands  of  all 
those  who  had  rendered  such  service  as  could 
not  be  dispensed  with.  Assuredly  without  the 
setting  of  their  dusky  faces  as  a  background, 
there  would  have  been  lacking  a  distinct  ele- 
ment in  what  constituted  a  perfect  picture  of 


92  Lang  Syne. 

home  life,  whose  absence  must  have  been 
missed  regretfully  by  Washington  himself. 
For  strong  was  the  tie  of  affection  that  linked 
together  the  served  and  servant  in  those  old  and 
well  nigh  forgotten  days. 

The  head  dining-room  servant,  who  was  him- 
self a  most  awe  inspiring  individual,  allowed  no 
one  but  himself  to  take  charge  of  his  master's 
cloak  and  travelling  packages,  waving  back  in 
a  most  dignified  manner,  the  younger  servants 
who  ventured  to  propose  sharing  the  privilege. 

The  columns  on  the  portico,  overlooking  the 
river  were  wreathed  in  evergreens,  and  over  the 
front  door  had  been  erected  an  arch  of  holly, 
the  word  "  Welcome  "  being  distinctly  traced 
in  its  bright  berries,  that  gleamed  like  coral 
amid  the  glistening  green  of  the  foliage  that 
formed  its  background. 

Through  the  open  hall  doors  was  to  be  seen 
the  yule  log  blazing  on  the  hearth  within,  the 
polished  floors  shone  like  mirrors,  and  as  the 
family  disappear,  hidden  from  view  by  the  clos- 
ing leaves  of  the  hitherto  wide  open  doorway, 
we,  too,  like  their  country  neighbors,  shrink  from 
further  intrusion,  and  reverentially  turn  away 
without  essaying  to  cross  the  threshold. 

But  since  it  needs  be  that  we  close  now  these 
revolutionary  reminiscences  how  pleasant  to  let 
the  curtain  drop  upon  a  scene  of  smiling  peace! 
And  if  to-day  the  same  glad  light  sheds  lustre 


Conclusion.  93 

upon  our  land,  do  not  we  feel  that  its  glory  is 
reflected  from  that  which  went  before  ? 

If  so,  let  us  see  to  it  that  the  virtues  whence 
grew  up  so  fair  a  shaft,  be  cherished  and  fos- 
tered, until  the  last  days  be  more  glorious  than 
the  first ;  as  it  were,  the  rich  fruition  of  precious 
seed  sown  in  the  blessed  days  of  "  Auld  Lang 
Syne." 


THE    EI-TD. 


THE    WOMEN    OF    THE 
REVOLUTION. 


THE    WOMEN    OF    THE 
REVOLUTION. 


A  thankworthy  task  it  should  assuredly  be 
deemed,  to  preserve  from  oblivion  the  many 
deeds  of  woman's  heroism  and  devotion  to 
country,  which  illustrated  the  early  days  of  our 
Republic ;  and,  from  diverse  and  obscure 
sources,  to  garner  them  here  in  such  convenient 
and  portable  shape  as  fits  them  for  ready  trans- 
mission to  future  generations.  The  historian 
must  indeed  be  superficial,  who,  in  making  a 
philosophical  estimate  of  the  units  which 
together  constitute  the  individuality  of  any 
age,  ignores  its  domestic  relations,  as  an 
important  factor  in  the  great  sum  whose  mys- 
teries he  is  endeavoring  to  solve.  Eliminate 
from  the  life  of  any  one  man  all  those  actions 
to  which  he  has  been  prompted  by  the  desire  to 
please  the  woman  who  stands  closest  to  his 
heart,  be  it  mother,  sister,  or  wife,  and  it  were 
indeed  strange  if  some  of  the  fairest  achieve- 
ments of  his  life  are  not  lost.  And  what  is  the 
history  of  any  period  of  the  world,  but  a  record 
of  human  life  in  the  aggregate  ? — an  aggregate 
made   up  of  individuals,  whose  incentives   for 

97 


98  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

action,  in  the  mass,  must  be  sought  in  precisely 
the  same  sources  as  when  they  stood  alone,  sep- 
arate and  distinct;  whose  inspiration  will  be 
ever  found  in  the  character  of  those  whom  they 
love.  Unwise,  then,  would  be  the  student  of 
Revolutionary  lore,  who  should  pass  by  as 
unworthy  of  his  attention,  the  record  of  the 
lives  of  women  who  were,  to  say  the  least, 
companions  of  heroes,  and  who,  although  there 
might  have  been  nothing  about  them  to  attract 
notice,  if  they  had  been  allowed  to  pursue  the 
even  tenor  of  their  ordinarily  quiet  lives,  were 
yet  found  equal  to  the  occasion,  when  through 
the  cruel  emergency  of  the  hour,  they  were 
called  upon  to  confront  danger,  surmount  diffi- 
culties, and  endure  tortures  both  physical  and 
mental. 

As  fact  is  ever  more  forcible  than  theory,  and 
particular  incidents  more  interesting  than  gen- 
eral statements,  we  shall  doubtless  be  readily 
pardoned,  in  this  article,  for  recalling  some  of 
the  striking  and  lovely  portraits  drawn  for  us 
by  Mrs.  Ellet's  truthful  pencil. 

First  in  the  group  must,  of  course,  stand 
Mary  Ball,  the  mother  of  Washington.  The 
popular  belief,  that  in  the  character  of  the 
mother  may  be  read  the  future  of  her  son,  is,  of 
course,  an  exaggeration  of  the  truth;  but 
Washington  is  no  exception  to  the  general 
truth,  that  a  son's  mind  is  moulded   after  the 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.  99 

pattern  of  his  mother's,  and  his  character  per- 
fected, in  large  measure,  by  the  principles 
instilled  into  him  in  childhood  at  her  knee. 
We  hear  of  this  lady  first  as  a  beautiful  young 
girl,  daughter  of  Colonel  Ball,  of  Westmore- 
land, Virginia,  and  the  beile  of  the  Northern 
Neck.  In  person  she  was  tall,  graceful  and 
dignified,  clothed  with  more  than  an  ordinary 
share  of  womanly  modesty,  and  yet  endowed 
with  a  faculty  for  controlling  others,  most 
unusual  in  one  of  her  sex  and  years.  After- 
wards, as  a  mistress  and  mother,  she  maintained 
her  authority  inviolate  ;  not  through  any  out- 
ward demonstration  of  power,  except,  perhaps, 
the  sudden  kindling  of  the  eye  when  provoked, 
but  through  that  indefinable,  but  felt,  force  of 
will,  that  enabled  her,  almost  without  effort,  to 
bring  all  about  her  to  submit  without  question 
to  her  orders.  In  her  own  family,  therefore, 
she  reigned  supreme ;  and  yet  her  firmness  was 
so  tempered  with  considerate  kindness,  that  her 
children  idolized  as  well  as  feared  her.  Her 
husband,  Augustine  Washington,  was  a 
widower  when  she  married  him ;  and  the  diffi- 
cult part  of  a  stepmother  she  performed  with- 
out reproach.  She  became,  herself,  the  mother 
of  four  sons  and  two  daughters,  one  of  whom 
died  in  infancy.  Her  oldest  child,  George,  was 
eleven  years  old  when  she  became  a  widow; 
and  upon  her  devolved  the  entire  charge  of  her 


100  The  Women  of  the  Revolution, 

husband's  many  plantations,  besides  the  con- 
duct of  her  children's  education.  Her  talents 
for  management  were  then  brought  into  full 
requisition.  How  well  she  performed  her  task 
in  the  rearing  of  her  oldest  son,  without  the 
aid  of  a  father's  stronger  arm,  America  grate- 
fully acknowledges,  in  the  homage  paid  to  his 
virtues.  Irving  writes  : — "  Tradition  gives  an 
interesting  picture  of  the  widow  with  her  little 
flock  gathered  round  her,  as  was  her  daily  wont, 
reading  to  them  lessons  of  religion  and  morality 
out  of  some  standard  work.  Her  favorite 
volume  was  Sir  Matthew  Hale's  Contempla- 
tions, moral  and  divine.  The  admirable 
maxims  therein  contained,  for  outward  action 
as  well  as  self-government,  sank  deep  into  the 
mind  of  George,  and  doubtless  had  a  great 
influence  in  forming  his  character.  They  cer- 
tainly were  exemplified  in  his  conduct  through- 
out life.  This  mother's  manual,  bearing  his 
mother's  name,  Mary  Washington,  written  with 
her  own  hand,  was  ever  preserved  by  him  with 
filial  care,  and  ma}*  still  be  seen  in  the  archives 
of  Mount  Vernon.  A  precious  document ! 
Let  those  who  wish  to  know  the  moral  founda- 
tion of  his  character,  consult  its  pages." 

During  the  whole  of  his  career,  General 
Washington  was  accustomed  to  pay  the  most 
unaffected  and  unusual  deference  to  his  mother  ; 
and  his  meeting  with  her  after  the  victory  of 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.  101 

Yorktown,  which  decided  the  independence  of 
the  struggling  colonies,  is  so  remarkable  and 
touchingly  beautiful,  that  we  transcribe  it  at 
second  hand  from  Mr.  Custis's  narrative  : 

"  After  an  absence  of  nearly  seven  years,  it 
was  at  length,  on  the  return  of  the  combined 
armies  from  Yorktown,  permitted  to  the  mother 
again  to  see  and  embrace  her  illustrious  son. 
So  soon  as  he  had  dismounted,  in  the  midst  of  a 
brilliant  suite,  he  sent  to  apprise  her  of  his 
arrival,  and  to  know  when  it  would  be  her 
pleasure  to  receive  him.  She  was  alone,  her 
aged  hands  employed  in  works  of  domestic 
industry,  when  the  good  news  was  announced, 
and  it  was  further  told  that  the  victorious  chief 
was  in  waiting  at  the  threshold.  She  welcomed 
him  with  a  warm  embrace,  and  by  the  well- 
rembered  and  endearing  names  of  his  child- 
hood. Inquiring  as  to  his  health,  she  remarked 
the  lines  which  mighty  cares  and  many  trials 
had  made  on  his  manly  countenance ;  spoke 
much  of  old  times  and  old  friends ;  but  of  his 
glory,  not  one  ivord  !  Meantime,  in  the  village 
of  Fredericksburg,  all  was  joy  and  revelry. 
The  town  was  crowded  with  officers  of  the 
French  and  American  armies,  and  with  gentle- 
men from  all  the  country  around,  who  hastened 
to  welcome  the  conquerors  of  Cornwallis. 
The  citizens  made  arrangements  for  a  splendid 
ball,  to  which  the   mother  of  Washington  was 


102  The    'Women  of  the  Revolution. 

specially  invited.  She  observed,  that  though 
her  dancing  days  were  pretty  well  over,  she  should 
feel  happy  in  contributing  to  the  general  fes- 
tivity, and  consented  to  attend.  The  foreign 
officers  were  anxious  to  see  the  mother  of  their 
chief.  They  had  heard  indistinct  rumors 
respecting  her  remarkable  life  and  character; 
but  forming  their  judgment  from  European  exam- 
ples, they  were  prepared  to  expect  in  her  that 
glare  and  show  which  would  have  been  attached 
to  the  parents  of  the  great  in  the  Old  World. 
How  were  they  surprised  when  the  matron, 
leaning  on  the  arm  of  her  son,  entered  the 
room  !  She  was  arrayed  in  the  very  plain,  yet 
becoming  garb  worn  by  the  Virginia  lady  of  the 
olden  time.  Her  address,  always  dignified  and 
imposing,  was  courteous,  though  reserved.  She 
received  the  complimentary  attentions  which 
were  profusely  paid  her,  without  evincing  the 
slightest  elevation;  and  at  an  early  hour,  wish- 
ing the  company  much  enjoyment  of  their  plea- 
sures, and  observing  that  it  was  time  for  old 
people  to  be  at  home,  retired,  leaning  as  before 
on  the  arm  of  her  son." 

In  the  mysterious  ordering  of  Providence, 
this  noble  lady  was  permitted  to  languish  for 
years,  and  then  die  from  the  effects  of  cancer, 
that  most  humiliating  of  the  diseases  with 
which  humanity  is  scourged.  But  even  under 
this  sore  trial  she  maintained  the  integrity  of 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.  103 

her  religious  faith,  possessed  her  soul  in 
patience,  and  was  finally  laid  to  rest  in  a  beau- 
tiful rural  spot  of  her  own  selection.  It  is  situated 
on  a  high  bluff  near  Fredericksburg,  overlook- 
ing the  Rappahannock  river,  and  the  site  of  the 
home  where  she  had  passed  the  brief,  happy 
years  of  her  married  life.  An  unfinished  white 
marble  monument  marks  the  spot  where  repose 
the  remains  of  "  Mary,  the  Mother  of  Washing- 
ton," and  many  are  the  pilgrims  who  there  turn 
aside  to  do  her  memory  homage,  and  bow,  we 
trust,  with  renewed  purpose  of  soul,  to  emulate 
the  virtues  of  truth,  piety  and  benevolence, 
which  shone  so  brightly  in  her  life. 

The  last  interview  Washington  ever  had  with 
his  mother  occurred  just  after  he  had  been 
elected  President,  and  before  Ins  departure  for 
New  York  to  take  the  oath  of  office.  It  was 
deeply  affecting.  Bowed  down  by  the  weight 
of  fourscore  and  five  years,  and  worn  by  the 
ravages  of  her  fatal  disease,  the  honored  matron 
felt  that  she  was  bidding  her  beloved  son  a  last 
farewell,  and  showed  the  strongest  emotion 
during  the  interview.  Washington  said : — 
"  Madam,  the  people  have  been  pleased,  with 
the  most  flattering  unanimity,  to  elect  me  to 
the  chief  magistracy  of  the  United  States ;  but 
before  I  can  assume  the  functions  of  that  office, 
I  have  come  to  bid  you  an  affectionate  fare- 
well.    So   soon   as   the  public   business,  which 


104  The    Women  of  the  Revolution, 

must  necessarily  be  encountered  in  arranging  a 
new  government,  can  be  disposed  of,  I  shall 
hasten  to  Virginia,  and — "  Here  the  mother 
interrupted  him  with,  "You  will  see  me  no 
more.  My  great  age,  and  the  disease  which  is 
fast  approaching  my  vitals,  warn  me  that  I  shall 
not  be  long  in  this  world.  I  trust  to  God  I  am 
somewhat  prepared  for  a  better.  But  go, 
George,  fulfil  the  destiny  which  Heaven 
appears  to  assign  you;  go,  my  son,  and  may 
Heaven's  and  your  mother's  blessing  be  with 
you  always."  Washington  wept  ;  the  great  man 
was  again  a  little  child,  as  he  kissed  the  fur- 
rowed cheek  of  his  mother  with  all  the  the  ten- 
der affection  and  simplicity  of  a  loving  boy. 
With  a  full  heart  he  went  forth  to  "fulfil  the 
destiny ''  which  Heaven  assigned  him,  and  he 
saw  his  mother  no  more. 

As  early  as  1833,  Andrew  Jackson,  the  then 
President  of  the  United  States,  repaired  to 
Fredericksburg,  in  all  the  pomp  of  civic  and 
military  parade,  to  lay  the  corner-stone  of  the 
monument  to  be  erected  to  Washington's 
mother  ;  and  still  the  tomb  is  incomplete ;  the 
noble  obelisk,  which  was  meant  to  crown  its 
base,  lying  mutilated  and  neglected  on  the 
ground.  Wild  flowers  and  graceful  vines,  it  is 
said,  have  sprung  spontaneously  around,  as 
though  to  conceal  the  negligence  of  man.  May 
it  not  be  for  long  that  this  sad  monument  shall 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.  105 

remain  to  that  spirit  of  procrastination  and  lack 
of  enterprise  which  exist,  to  too  great  an  extent, 
within  the  borders  of  the  blessed,  but  not  fault- 
less, Old  Dominion.  Happy,  indeed,  must  we 
count  the  land  which  can  furnish  to  its 
daughters  the  example  of  a  character  so  sym- 
metrical as  that  which  we  have  just  described. 
If  Washington  were  blessed  in  a  mother  so 
fully  qualified  to  guide  his  youthful  footsteps 
into  paths  of  rectitude  and  honor,  he  was  equally 
so  in  finding  a  wife  meet  for  the  companionship 
of  his  maturer  years.  That  the  beginning  of  so 
fortunate  a  union  was  in  accordance  with  the 
most  approved  modes  of  procedure  in  the 
school  of  romance,  is  pleasing  enough  to  those 
wdio  acknowledge  the  authority  of  its  somewhat 
antiquated  code.  In  his  twenty-seventh  year, 
Washington  was  already  Colonel  in  the  English 
army,  and  had  seen  abundance  of  active  service 
in  the  border  warfare  with  the  French  and  their 
savage  allies.  In  the  spring  of  1758,  the 
Indians  were  making  hostile  demonstrations  to 
an  alarming  extent  in  many  unprotected  por- 
tions of  Virginia,  and  the  terrified  inhabitants 
appealed  urgently  to  the  military  for  defence. 
In  response  to  this  call,  large  forces  of  militia 
gathered  together,  in  addition  to  the  regular 
troops  already  in  the  field,  preparing  for  an 
expedition  against  Fort  Duquesne.  All  of 
these  men  were  in  desperate   need  of  clothes, 


106         The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

arms,  indeed  everything  that  constitutes  the 
soldier's  outfit.  Washington,  after  repeatedly 
soliciting  relief  for  their  necessities,  but  without 
avail,  at  last  received  the  welcome  order  from 
Sir  John  St.  Clair,  quartermaster-general  of  the 
forces  under  the  Commander-in-Chief,  Forbes,  to 
repair  to  Williamsburg,  where  the  Council  was 
in  session,  and  there  represent  the  pressing 
nature  of  the  case.  With  alacrity  the  young  offi- 
cer obeyed  the  order,  and  set  forth  on  horseback 
from  Winchester,  attended  by  Bishop,  a  faithful 
military  valet.  As  he  crossed  the  Pamunkey  in 
a  ferry-boat,  he  fell  in  company  with  Mr.  Cham- 
berlayne,  a  neighboring  planter,  who  urged  him 
to  stop  and  partake  of  his  hospitality ;  in  short, 
he  would  take  no  denial.  Washington  objected 
much  to  the  delay,  but  finally  yielded,  on  con- 
dition that  he  might  be  allowed  to  depart  imme- 
diately after  dinner.  Among  a  large  com]  any 
of 'guests  already  assembled  in  Mr.  Chamber- 
layne's  parlor,  he  was  introduced  to  a  young 
widow,  Mrs.  Martha  Custis,  whose  maiden 
name,  Dandridge,  proved  her  to  belong  to  a 
family  of  distinction.  She  is  represented  as 
possessing  a  fine  figure,  although  rather  below 
medium  height,  dark  hazel  eyes,  chestnut  brown 
hair,  a  winning  countenance,  and  manners  at 
once  frank  and  engaging.  There  must  indeed 
have  been  something  peculiarly  fascinating 
i  in  the  conversation,  which  could  make  Washing- 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.  107 

ton  loiter  in  the  path  of  duty,  as  was  the  case 
at  this  time.  Bishop,  punctual  as  the  clock, 
brought  out  his  horses  at  the  hour  named,  but 
in  dumb  amazement  heard  them  remanded 
to  the  stable.  His  master  had  allowed  himself 
to  be  persuaded  to  tarry  awile  longer,  nor  got 
his  own  consent  to  leave  his  charming  new 
acquaintance  until  the  following  morning.  The 
impression  made  that  afternoon  was  not  effaced, 
for,  as  Mrs.  Custis's  residence  was  not  far  from 
Williamsburg,  the  young  soldier  improved  the' 
opportunity  for  prosecuting  his  courtship,  and 
was  successful,  despite  the  rivalship  of  many 
another  suitor.  Amid  the  pressing  and  con- 
flicting duties  of  an  ardent  campaign,  he  made 
his  way  into  the  fair  widow's  affections;  and 
before  he  was  recalled  to  headquarters  at  Win- 
chester, they  became  engaged,  and  appointed 
the  marriage  to  take  place  so  soon  as  Fort 
Duquesne  should  have  fallen.  Accordingly, 
we  find  that  the  wedding  did  take  place,  at  the 
bride's  residence,  White  House,  New  Kent 
County,  January  6th,  1759,  where  the  nuptials 
were  solemnized  in  old  Virginia  style,  amid  a 
large  circle  of  friends,  and  with  general  merry- 
making. 

Washington  now  resigned  all  connection 
with  the  army,  supposed  his  military  career  had 
drawn  to  a  close,  and,  in  good  faith  and  con- 
tentment, proposed  to  himself  henceforward  to 


108  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

lead  the  life  of  a  retired  country-gentleman. 
In  view  of  the  brilliant  future  that  we  know 
was  before  him,  how  strange  seems  the  follow- 
ing sentence,  penned  at  Mount  Vernon  a  few 
months  after  his  marriage : — "  I  am  now,  I 
believe,  fixed  in  this  seat,  with  an  agreeable 
partner  for  life,  and  I  hope  to  find  more  happi- 
ness in  retirement  than  I  ever  experienced  in 
the  wide  and  bustling  world."  So  little  do 
even  those  who  are  Heaven's  choicest  instru- 
ments for  good  to  their  fellow-men,  know  of  the 
path  which  is  appointed  for  them  to  follow. 
The  pursuits  of  agriculture  and  the  pleasures 
of  country  life  never  lost  their  charm  for 
Washington.  Again  and  again  we  see  him 
return  to  his  beloved  Mount  Vernon,  ardently 
longing  to  remain  there  ;  and  again  and  again 
lie  is  called  forth  to  serve  his  country,  a  call  to 
which  no  selfish  gratification  could  ever  make 
him  deaf. 

Mrs.  Washington  seems  to  have  been  one  of 
those  women  who  shine  equally  in  domestic 
and  social  circles,  so  that  it  is  hardly  matter  for 
surprise  if  her  husband  found  his  home  so 
attractive  as  to  have  no  need  for  seeking  his 
happiness  elsewhere.  Doubtless,  the  secret  of 
her  charm  lay  in  her  piet}^  which  was  deep  and 
sincere.  In  that  long  struggle  which  lasted 
with  changing  success  for  so  many  years,  and 
whose  issue  trembled  so  often  in  the  balance, 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.  109 

she  showed  that  equanimity  of  spirit  and 
temper  which  is  a  very  tower  of  strength  to  its 
possessor,  and  a  beacon  of  hope  to  all  who 
come  within  reach  of  its  blessed  influences. 
In  the  dark  days  at  Valley  Forge,  not  to  speak 
of  many  another  dreary  winter,  the  cheering 
effects  of  the  presence  of  ladies  in  camp,  more 
especially  that  of  Lady  Washington,  is  spoken 
of  gratefully,  in  many  a  soldier's  letter ;  and 
many  a  page  of  history,  that  would  have  been 
otherwise  a  dreary  record  of  gloom,  hardship, 
and  disaster,  is  thus  softened  and  brightened. 
Nor  are  we  left  without  a  description  of  this 
lady's  mode  of  dress,  which  is  worthy  of  note, 
as,  doubtless,  true  daughters  of  the  Republic 
will  wish  to  imitate  it.  An  old  soldier  tells  the 
story  of  how  there  was  much  stir  in  the  bar- 
racks, when  it  was  bruited  abroad  that  so  grand 
a  lady  was  coining  to  visit  the  camp  as  Lady 
Washington — one  of  those  aristocratic  Virgin- 
ians whose  pride  was  even  then  the  subject  of 
comment,  and  one  who,  at  all  events,  as  the 
wife  of  their  Commander-in-Chief,  might  be 
expected  to  appear  in  elegant  attire.  Man}*- 
flocked  as  near  as  they  dared,  to  see  her  alight 
from  her  coach,  and  could  hardly  believe  at 
first  that  the  plainly  dressed  person  whom  they 
saw,  with  her  only  neck-dress  a  neatly  folded 
kerchief,  was  the  expected  lady.  But  they 
were  soon  convinced  of  her  identity  when  they 


110  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

observed  the  manner  of  General  Washington's 
welcome,  and  saw  the  deference  paid  her  by  all 
in  attendance.  Simplicity,  with  neatness,  were 
marked  characteristics  of  Mrs.  Washington's 
attire,  qualities  which  many  of  her  sex  in  those 
days  were  not  slow  to  imitate,  led  by  so  august 
an  example.  Since  the  funds  which  would 
ordinarily  have  gone  for  the  adornment  of  their 
persons  were  now,  in  most  instances,  poured 
into  the  common  treasury,  this  moderation  on 
the  part  of  the  women  of  the  day  must  have 
contributed  in  no  small  degree  to  the  support 
of  the  ill-fed,  ragged  Continental  troops,  in 
whom,  nevertheless,  was  centred  every  hope  of 
coming  freedom. 

Who  knows  how  much  of  that  outward 
imperturbable  serenity  for  which  Washington 
has  been  so  much  admired,  resulted  from  his 
possessing  domestic  peace — a  wife  at  home  in 
whom  his  heart  could  safely  trust.  The  genuine 
hospitality  of  this  pair  is  evinced  by  the  cheer- 
fulness with  which  it  was  dispensed,  amid 
the  discomforts  and  mean  accommodations  of 
camp-life,  as  well  as  when  they  were  at  home, 
surrounded  by  all  the  accessories  of  wealth, 
wherewith  to  provide  comfort  and  good  cheer 
for  their  visitors.  The  Marquis  de  Chastellux 
speaks  feelingly  of  the  warm  reception  he 
experienced  at  their  hands,  when  the  only 
chamber  they  had  to  offer  him  at  night  was  a 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.  Ill 

small  room,  which  during  the  day  served  quite 
a  large  company  as  a  sitting-room.  The  trouble 
and  inconvenience  to  which  General  and  Mrs. 
Washington  put  themselves  to  entertain  him, 
could  not  fail  to  call  forth  the  gratitude  of  this 
impressible  young  Frenchman,  and  made  him 
apprehensive,  he  says,  lest  M.  Rochambeau 
might  arrive  the  same  day.  He  well  knew  that 
the  expansiveness  of  their  benevolence  would 
not  allow  them  to  consider  their  own  ease, 
where  the  accommodation  of  a  guest  was  con- 
cerned. 

An  old  veteran,  many  years  afterwards, 
related  an  anecdote  illustrative  of  Mrs.  Wash- 
ington's condescending  kindness  towards  those 
in  the  humblest  walks  of  life.  He  told  how 
himself  and  several  other  young  carpenters  had 
been  called  upon  by  General  Washington  to 
make  a  buffet,  to  put  up  shelves,  and  some 
other  little  contrivances  for  the  comfort  of  his 
wife,  who  was  daily  expected  at  headquarters. 
The  lady  arrived  before  the  arrangements  were 
complete,  and  hastened  to  impart  her  own 
instructions.  While  busied  in  her  service,  she 
so  encouraged  the  workmen  by  her  amiable 
manners,  and  by  herself  daily  mounting  the 
stairs  with  some  refreshment  for  them,  that 
they  worked  with  a  will,  and  all  their  life  long 
treasured  her  parting  words  of  approval,  as 
something   beyond    price.     When    they    called 


112  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

her  to  inspect  the  completed  task,  their  spokes- 
man said,  "  Madam,  we  have  endeavored  to  do 
the  best  we  could  ;  I  hope  we  have  suited  you." 
She  replied,  smiling  : — "*I  am  not  only  satisfied, 
but  highly  gratified  with  what  you  have  done 
for  my  comfort."  Simple  words  truly  ;  but 
were  the  poor  men  wrong  to  prize  them,  com- 
ing as  they  did  from  such  a  source  ? 

In  the  darkest  hours  of  the  war,  Mrs.  Wash- 
ington's cheerful  deportment  infused  spirit  into 
the  despondent,  and  her  patient  endurance  of 
hardship  made  many  ashamed  to  complain  of 
their  own  trials,  who  would  otherwise  have 
used  no  such  self-restraint ;  and  when  prosperity 
came,  that  severest  of  tests,  it  was  her  modest, 
yet  noble  demeanor,  together  with  that  of  her 
husband,  which  lent  dignity  to  a  new  and 
untried  form  of  government.  Their  stately 
simplicity  of  manner  taught  the  world  that 
republican  institutions  did  not  necessitate  the 
abrogation  of  conventionality  ,  and  their  purity 
and  moderation  of  life  proved  that  the  noblest 
patriotism  might  exist  in  union  with  great 
power,  provided  its  seat  la}'  in  the  hearts  of  the 
people  ruled. 

But  it  was  not  only  in  the  circles  of  the  rich 
and  the  great  that  woman's  influence  was  felt 
in  Revolutionary  days.  The  same  instinct  of 
self-abnegation,  and  devotion  to  the  cause  of 
freedom,   seemed    to    pervade    all    classes,   and 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.  113 

shine  with  equal  lustre  among  young  and  old, 
high  and  low  ;  and  that  in  all  sections  of  the 
country.  Time  would  fail  to  tell  of  all  the 
expedients  devised  by  female  ingenuity,  and 
all  the  sacrifices  made  in  behalf  of  the  infant 
republic.  A  letter  from  a  Philadelphia  lady  to 
a  British  officer  in  Boston  gives  an  idea  of  the 
pervading  sentiment  which  filled  them  all : 

"  My  only  brother  I  have  sent  to  the  camp,  with 
my  prayers  and  blessings.  I  hope  he  will  not 
disgrace  me.  I  am  confident  he  will  behave  with 
honor,  and  emulate  the  great  examples  he  has 
before  him  ;  and  had  I  twenty  sons  and  brothers, 
they  should  go.  I  have  retrenched  every  super- 
fluous expense  in  my  table  and  family ;  tea  I 
have  not  drunk  since  last  Christmas,  nor  bought 
a  new  cap  or  gown  since  your  defeat  at  Lexing- 
ton ;  and,  what  I  never  did  before,  have  learned 
to  knit,  and  am  now  making  stockings  of 
American  wool  for  my  servants ;  and  this  way 
elo  I  throw  in  my  mite  to  the  public  good.  I 
have  the  pleasure  to  assure  you  that  these  are 
the  sentiments  of  all  my  sister  Americans. 
They  have  sacrificed  assemblies,  parties  of 
pleasure,  tea-drinking  and  finery,  to  that  great 
spirit  of  patriotism  that  actuates  all  elegrees  of 
people  throughout  this  extensive  continent." 

One  lady  in  Ulster  County,  N.  Y.,  studied 
medicine,  that,  in  the  absence  of  physicians  in 
the  army,  she  might  attend  upon  the  sick  in  her 


114         The    Women  of  the  Revolotion. 

own  neighborhood.  Some  stripped  themselves 
of  necessaries  to  contribute  to  yet  more  press- 
ing public  needs,  and  gave  not  only  of  their  own 
property,  but  solicited  aid  for  the  suffering 
soldiery  from  door  to  door.  Silk  banners  were 
embroidered  by  delicate  fingers,  and  presented 
to  favored  regiments,  with  a  charge  never  to 
desert  them.  One  brave  fellow  in  New  Jersey 
had  already  bidden  farewell  and  set  out  for  the 
army,  with  rifle  across  his  shoulder,  when,  hear- 
ing his  wife  call  to  him  from  the  window;  he 
turned  to  receive  her  last  words,  which  were 
briefly  these  ;  — "  Remember  to  do  your  duty  !  I 
would  rather  hear  that  you  were  left  a  corpse 
on  the  field  than  that  you  had  played  the  part 
of  a  coward."  At  that  very  instant  her  own 
hands  were  employed  in  scraping  lint  for  the 
u^e  of  the  wounded,  for  which  purpose  every 
particle  of  linen  in  the  house  had  been  torn  into 
shreds.  Some  melted  their  pewter  plates  and 
spoons  to  convert  them  into  bullets,  cut  up  their 
own  flannel  garments,  their  blankets  and  sheets, 
to  make  clothes  of  them  for  the  soldiers.  In 
short,  nothing  could  damp  their  enthusiasm,  and 
no  difficulty  proved  too  great  for  their  ardor  to 
overcome. 

Mrs.  General  Greene  resigned  her  beautiful 
Rhode  Island  mansion,  that  it  might  do  service 
as  a  small-pox  hospital ;  and  a  young  English 
girl,  who  afterwards  turned  out  10  be  acting  the 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.  115 

part  of  spy  upon  her  kind  entertainers,  in  giving 
expression  to  her  own  ennui,  unwittingly  sup- 
plies this  testimony  to  the  patriotic  employments 
in  which  General  Putnam's  family  were 
employed  : — "  My  amusements  were  few  ;  the 
good  Mrs.  Putnam  employed  me  and  her  daugh- 
ters constantly  to  spin  flax  for  shirts  for  the 
American  soldiery,  indolence  in  America  being 
totally  discouraged." 

The  women  of  the  Southern  States  were  not 
behind  their  Northern  sisters  in  devotion  to  the 
cause.  They  joined  together  in  formal  societies, 
pledging  themselves  to  renounce  tea  and  other 
foreign  luxuries,  and  to  wear  clothing  spun  and 
woven  by  their  own  hands.  In  Rowan  and 
Mecklenburg  counties,  North  Carolina,  young 
ladies  of  the  best  families  signed  a  compact, 
binding  themselves  to  accept  no  suitors  who 
had  refused  to  do  military  service  for  their 
country. 

Nor  was  this  feeling  ephemeral,  but  as  endur- 
ing as  the  occasion  which  called  it  forth.  In 
1779,  the  ladies  of  Philadelphia  formed  an  asso- 
ciation which  contributed  inestimably  to  the 
support  of  the  then  exhausted  country.  All 
contributed  of  their  money  or  of  their  jewels, 
from  the  Marchioness  de  Lafayette  down  to 
Phillis,  the  humble  colored  woman,  each  accord- 
ing to  the  measure  of  her  ability.  General 
Washington,  in  a  note  to  a  committee  of  ladies 


116  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

acknowledging  contributions  to  the  comfort  of 
his  men,  writes :  "  The  army  ought  not  to 
regret  its  sacrifices,  when  they  meet  with  so  flat- 
tering a  reward  as  in  the  sympathy  of  your  sex." 
The  Marquis  de  Chastellux  thus  reports  a  visit 
paid  to  Mrs.  Bache,  daughter  of  Benjamin 
Franklin  : — "  She  conducted  us  into  a  room  filled 
with  work  lately  finished  by  the  ladies  of  Phila- 
delphia. This  work  consisted  neither  of 
embroidered  tambour  waistcoats,  nor  of  net- 
work edging,  nor  of  gold  and  silver  brocade. 
It  was  a  quantity  of  shirts  for  the  soldiers  of 
Pennsylvania.  The  ladies  bought  linen  from 
their  private  purses,  and  took  a  ] Measure  in  cut- 
ting them  out  and  sewing  them.  On  each  shirt 
was  the  name  of  the  married  or  unmarried  lady 
who  made  it,  and  they  amounted  to  twenty-two 
hundred/ ' 

Mrs.  Motte,  of  South  Carolina,  gave  a  notable 
example  of  high-minded  patriotism,  which  we 
cannot  forebear  quoting.  It  seems  that  her 
large,  newly  built  mansion  had  become  the 
centre  of  works  which  the  British  had  converted 
into  a  fort.  Opposite,  and  on  a  high  hill,  was  a 
smaller  and  older  farmhouse,  to  which  Mrs. 
Motte  had  retired  upon  the  intrusion  of  the 
enemy.  Here  Lee  and  Marion  took  position 
with  their  forces,  and  invested  the  fort,  hoping 
to  force  it  to  surrender  before  succor  could  come 
to  its  relief.     Lord   Rawdon's   near   approach 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.         117 

made  it  necessary  to  hasten  operations,  and 
regretfully  the  two  American  commanders 
agreed  that  the  only  way  to  compel  a  surrender 
would  be  to  fire  the  fort,  which  necessarily 
involved  the  destruction  of  Mrs.  Motte's  elegant 
residence.  Hesitatingly  they  informed  the  lady 
of  the  painful  duty  incumbent  upon  them  of 
destroying  her  property.  "  Mrs.  Motte  not  only 
assented,  but  declared  that  she  was  'gratified 
with  the  opportunity  of  contributing  to  the 
good  of  her  country,  and  should  view  the 
approaching  scene  with  delight.'  Shortly  after 
she  sent  for  Lee,  and  presenting  him  with  a 
bow  and  arrows  which  had  been  imported  from 
India,  requested  that  they  might  be  used  to 
convey  combustible  matter  to  the  house."  Mrs. 
Ellet  adds,  after  giving  an  animated  account  of 
the  affair : — "  If  ever  a  situation  in  real  life 
afforded  a  fit  subject  for  poetry,  by  filling  the 
mind  with  a  sense  of  moral  grandeur,  it  was 
that  of  Mrs.  Motte  contemplating  the  spectacle 
of  her  home  in  flames,  and  rejoicing  in  the 
triumph  secured  to  her  countrymen,  the  bene- 
fit to  her  native  land,  by  her  surrender  of  her 
own  interest  to  the  public  service." 

But  it  was  not  always  woman's  active 
cooperation  and  approval  that  lent  force  to  the 
blows  with  which  the  American  sought 
to  drive  back  the  invader  of  his  country's 
rights.     Her  very  helplessness,  and  the   cruel 


118  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

persecutions  to  which  her  innocence  was 
exposed,  did  more  than  aught  else  to  convince 
the  patriots  of  the  stern  necessity  that  lay 
upon  them  to  conquer,  if  they  would  ever 
taste  again  the  blessedness  of  security  and 
peace.  In  1780  occurred  the  Caldwell  Tragedy, 
which,  says  one  of  the  journals  of  the  day, 
"  has  raised  the  resolution  of  the  country  to  the 
highest  pitch."  Rev.  James  Caldwell  was  the 
pastor  of  the  Presttyterian  congregation  at 
Elizabethtown.  His  church  had  been  1  turned 
by  a  band  of  British  and  Tories,  and  he  was 
forced  to  find  a  temporary  home  at  Connecticut 
Flats.  One  morning  the  report  came  that  a 
large  company  of  the  enemy  were  approaching, 
and  the  minister,  knowing  to  what  an  extent 
he  had  incurred  their  hostility,  in  haste  har- 
nessed horses  to  a  large  baggage- wagon,  and 
besought  his  wife  to  make  her  escape,  with  him- 
self and  their  six  children,  while  it  was  yet 
possible  to  make  the  attempt.  Secure  in  a  con- 
viction of  her  own  inoffensive  conduct,  and 
believing  that  no  man  could  be  cruel  enough  to 
harm  a  woman  in  the  discharge  of  her  maternal 
duties,  she  refused  to  abandon  her  home  to 
plunder,  and  quietly  resumed  her  place  in 
the  nursery,  after  expediting  the  flight  of 
her  husband  and  three  older  children.  When 
the  soldiery  came  up,  she  had  just  handed 
the  infant  to  its  nurse  ;  a  ruffian  approached 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.         119 

close  to  the  window,  and  taking  deliber- 
ate aim  at  the  mother,  fired  off  his  gun 
and  instantly  killed  her.  Even  her  lifeless 
remains  were  not  left  undisturbed,  but  her 
dress  was  cut  open,  and  her  pockets  rifled  of 
their  contents.  Strange  to  say,  this  barbarous 
and  cold-blooded  murder  was  not  the  work  of 
savages,  but  of  men  calling  themselves  Chris- 
tians and  civilized.  At  all  events  it  had  a  mar- 
vellous effect  in  arousing  the  public  mind  to  a 
full  sense  of  the  cruel  nature  of  the  warfare 
being  waged  against  them,  and  went  far 
towards  nerving  them  to  meet  bravely  the 
issues  of  the  contest  in  which  they  were 
engaged.  But  it  was  undeniable  that  the  policy 
of  the  British  Government  had  enlisted  in  its 
cause  hordes  of  veritable  savages,  restrained  by 
no  motives  such  as  move  even  the  nominal 
Christian,  and  the  war-whoop  of  the  Indian  was 
heard  in  all  the  frontier  settlements,  sending 
thrills  of  horror  to  the  most  stout-hearted,  and 
how  much  more  to  the  helpless  women  and 
children.  The  murder  of  Miss  Jane  McCrea 
had  occurred  the  spring  before,  and  created  a 
sensation  in  Europe  as  ivell  as  America.  The 
vision  of  the  beautiful  young  creature,  held  by 
her  long  fair  hair  at  arm's  length,  and  murdered 
by  a  painted  savage,  long  haunted  the  imagina- 
tion of  other  than  the  children  who  heard  it 
first  from  their  nurse's  lips.     The  simple  faith 


120  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

with  which  the  poor  girl  had  entrusted  herself 
to  the  hands  of  such  a  guide,  believing  him  to 
be  the  envoy  of  her  lover,  added  pathos  to  the 
tale,  which  was  repeated  with  deepest  feeling 
far  and  near;  and,  in  sooth,  the  reproach  of 
employing  such  allies  has  never  yet  been  wiped 
from  England's  escutcheon.  For  seven  years 
the  lovely  Mohawk  Valley  continued  to  be  but 
a  bloody  battle-field,  and  its  peacefully  inclined 
citizens  could  not  lie  down  to  sleep  with  any 
assurance  that  their  rest  would  not  be  broken 
by  the  wild  cry  of  the  savage,  and  their  eyes 
greeted  by  the  flames  of  their  own  barns  and 
dwelling  houses.  The  massacres  of  Wyoming 
and  Cherry  Valley  have  not  had  greater  pub- 
licity than  their  horrors  deserved,  yet  the  story 
is  too  painful  and  too  complicated  to  enter  upon 
in  this  place. 

Out  of  many  incidents  told  in  illustration  of 
the  high-hearted  courage  shown  by  women  of 
the  period,  we  select  one  or  two  examples  of 
peculiar  interest  and  beauty.  "  One  young  girl, 
Miss  Langston,  residing  in  Laurens  District, 
South  Carolina,  having  heard  by  accident  that 
the  '  Bloody  Scout '  were  about  to  visit  the 
Elder  settlement  where  her  brother  and  some 
friends  were  living,  determined  at  all  hazards 
to  give  them  warning.  She  was  obliged  to 
leave  her  home  alone,  by  stealth,  and  at  the 
dead  hour  of  night.     Many  miles  were   to  be 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.         121 

traversed,  and  the  road  lay  through  woods,  and 
over  marshes  and  creeks  where  the  conveniences 
of  bridges  and  foot-logs  were  wanting.  She 
walked  rapidly  on,  heedless  of  slight  difficulties  ; 
but  her  heart  almost  failed  her  when  she  came 
to  the  banks  of  the  Tyger — a  deep  and  rapid 
stream,  rendered  more  dangerous  by  the  rains 
that  had  lately  fallen.  But  the  thought  of 
personal  danger  weighed  lightly  with  her  ;  she 
resolved  to  accomplish  her  purpose  or  perish  in 
the  attempt.  She  entered  the  water  ;  but  when 
in  the  middle  of  the  ford,  became  bewildered 
and  doubtful  which  direction  to  take.  The 
hoarse  rush  of  the  waters,  which  were  up  to  her 
neck,  the  blackness  of  the  night,  the  utter  soli- 
tude around  her,  the  uncertainty  lest  the  next 
step  would  engulf  her  past  help,  confused  her, 
and  she  wandered  some  time  in  the  channel 
without  knowing  whither  to  turn  her  steps. 
But  the  energy  of  a  resolute  will,  under  the 
care  of  Providence,  sustained  her.  Having 
with  difficulty  reached  the  other  side,  she  lost 
no  time  in  hastening  to  her  brother,  informed 
him  and  his  friends  of  the  preparations  made  to 
surprise  and  destroy  them,  and  urged  him  to 
send  his  men  instantly  in  different  directions  to 
arouse  and  warn  the  neighborhood.  The 
soldiers  had  just  returned  from  a  fatiguing 
excursion,  and  complained  that  they  were  faint 
from  want  of  food.     The  noble  girl,  not  satis- 


122  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

fled  with  what  she  had  done,  was  ready  to  help 
them  still  further,  by  providing  food  and 
refreshment  immediately.  Though  wearied, 
wet,  and  shivering  with  cold,  she  at  once  set 
about  her  preparations.  A  few  boards  were 
taken  from  the  roof  of  the  house,  a  fire  was 
kindled  with  them,  and  in  a  few  minutes,  a  hoe- 
cake,  partly  baked,  was  broken  into  pieces,  and 
thrust  into  the  shot-pouches  of  the  men.  Thus 
provisioned,  the  little  company  hastened  to  give 
the  alarm  to  their  neighbors,  and  did  so  in  time 
for  all  to  make  their  escape.  At  a  later  period, 
the  father  of  Miss  Langston  incurred  the  dis- 
pleasure of  the  loyalists  in  consequence  of  the 
active  services  of  his  sons  in  their  country's 
cause.  A  party  came  to  his  house  with  the 
desperate  design  of  putting  to  death  all  the 
me.:  of  the  family.  The  sous  were  absent,  but 
the  feeble  old  man  was  in  their  power.  One  of 
the  company  drew  a  pistol  and  deliberately 
levelled  it  at  his  breast.  Suddenly  a  shriek  was 
heard,  and  his  young  daughter  sprang  between 
her  aged  parent  and  the  fatal  weapon.  The 
brutal  soldier  roughly  ordered  her  to  get  out  of 
the  way,  or  the  contents  of  the  pistol  would  be 
instantly  lodged  in  her  own  heart.  She  did 
not  heed  the  threat,  but  clasping  her  arms 
tightly  around  the  old  man's  neck,  declared 
that  her  own  body  should  first  receive  the  ball 
aimed   at  his    heart.     There    are    few   human 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.         123 

beings,  even  of  the  most  depraved,  entirel}r 
insensible  to  all  generous  impulses.  On  this 
occasion,  the  conduct  of  the  daughter,  so 
determined  to  shield  her  father's  life  by  the 
sacrifice  of  her  own,  touched  the  heart  even  of 
a  member  of  the  '  Bloody  Scout,'  and  Langston 
was  spared." 

Our  second  example  is  that  of  Mrs.  Van 
Alstine,  a  matron  of  Canajoharie,  New  York. 
Her  family  having  been  robbed  by  the  Indians 
of  all  winter  supplies  of  food  and  clothing, 
besides  the  farm-stock,  she  courageously  ven- 
tured to  the  Indian  settlement,  attended  only 
by  her  son,  a  boy  of  sixteen  years,  and  demanded 
the  restitution  of  her  property.  The  squaws 
alone  being  at  home,  she  succeeded  by  means 
of  stratagem  and  intimidation  together.*  "  The 
mother  and  son  now  drove  back  as  fast  as  pos- 
sible. They  reached  home  late  in  the  evening, 
and  passed  a  sleepless  night,  dreading  instant 
pursuit  and  a  night-attack  from  the  irritated 
savages.  Soon  after  daylight  the  alarm  was 
given  that  the  Indians  were  within  view  and 
coming  towards  the  house.  Van  Alstine  saw 
no  course  to  escape  from  their  vengeance  but  to 
give  up  whatever  they  wished  to  take  back  ; 
but  his  intrepid  wife  was  determined  on  an 
effort  at  least  to  retain  her  property.  As  they 
came  near,  she  begged  her  husband  not  to  show 

*  Domestic  History  of  the  Revolution,  p.  247. 


124  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

himself,  for  she  knew  they  would  immediately 
fall  upon  him,  but  to  leave  the  matter  in  her 
hands.  The  intruders  took  their  course  first  to 
the  stables,  and  bidding  all  the  rest  remain 
within  doors,  the  matron  went  out  alone,  fol- 
lowed to  the  door  by  all  her  family,  weeping, 
and  entreating  her  not  to  expose  herself.  Going 
to  the  stable,  she  inquired  in  the  Indian  language 
what  the  men  wanted.  The  reply  was  'our 
horses.'  She  said  boldly,  i  They  are  ours. 
You  came  and  took  them  without  right.  They 
are  ours,  and  we  mean  to  keep  them.'  The 
chief  now  came  forward  theateningly,  and 
approached  1  lie  door,  Mrs.  Van  Alstine  placed 
herself  against  it,  telling  him  she  would  not 
give  up  the  animals  they  had  raised.  He  suc- 
ceeded in  pulling  her  from  the  door,  and  drew 
out  the  plug  which  fastened  it,  which  she 
snatched  from  his  hand,  pushing  him  away. 
He  then  stepped  back  and  presented  his  rifle, 
threatening  to  shoot  her  if  she  did  not  move  ; 
but  she  kept  her  position,  opening  her  neck- 
handkerchief  and  bidding  him  shoot  if  he  dared. 
It  might  be  that  the  Indian  feared  punishment 
from  his  allies  for  any  such  act  of  violence,  or 
that  he  was  moved  with  admiration  of  her 
intrepidity.  He  hesitated,  looked  at  her  for  a 
moment,  and  then  slowly  dropped  his  gun, 
uttering  in  his  native  language  expressions 
implying  his  conviction  that  the  evil  one  must 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.         125 

help  her,  and  saying  to  his  companions  that  she 
was  a  brave  woman  and  they  would  not  molest 
her.  Giving  a  shout,  by  way  of  expressing 
their  approbation,  they  departed  from  the 
premises.  On  their  way  they  called  at  the 
house  of  Colonel  Frey,  and  related  their 
adventure,  saying  that  the  white  woman's 
courage  had  saved  her  and  her  property,  and 
were  there  fifty  such  brave  women  as  the  wife 
of  4  Big  Tree,'  the  Indians  would  never  have 
troubled  the  inhabitants  of  the  Mohawk  Valley." 
That  faculty  called  woman-wit  was  often 
exercised  with  the  best  practical  results.  After 
the  battle  of  Long  Island,  when  the  British 
were  enclosing  New  York,  and  it  had  been 
decided  that  the  American  troops  had  best 
make  good  their  retreat,  General  Putnam  was 
the  last  to  depart.  It  is  said  that  he  would 
certainly  have  been  intercepted  and  cut  off,  but 
for  the  finesse  of  Mrs.  Murray,  an  accomplished 
lady,  who  managed  to  detain  the  pursuers  by 
means  of  a  collation  and  lively  chat,  until  the 
object  of  their  pursuit  had  safely  escaped. 
The  same  device  had  equal  success  on  occasion 
of  Colonel  Tarleton's  raid  upon  Charlottesville 
and  Monticello,  Virginia,  for  the  purpose  of 
capturing  Jefferson,  the  Governor  of  Virginia, 
and  the  Legislature  there  assembled.  At  the 
house  of  Colonel  Walker,  twelve  miles  from 
the  town,  and  on  their  direct  route,  the  raiders 


126  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

paused,  taking  prisoner  several  legislators  who 
were  visiting  the  family.  Several  others,  how- 
ever, escaped,  and  the  British  officer  was  easily 
beguiled  into  partaking  of  a  feast  such  as  the 
Virginia  ladies  well  know  how  to  spread,  until 
intelligence  had  been  conveyed  to  the  intended 
victims,  and  the  boastful  Tarleton  had  naught 
to  do  but  to  return  baffled  to  his  superior 
officer,  thoroughly  chagrined  at  the  inglorious 
report  he  was  compelled  to  make  of  his  adven- 
ture. 

Both  prudence  and  presence  of  mind  gave 
point  to  the  intrepid  action  of  the  heroine  of 
"Green  Spring,"  which  we  quote  from  Mrs. 
Ellet's  statement.  "About  two  hundred  men, 
commanded  by  Colonel  Clarke,  of  the  Georgia 
Volunteers,  having  received  intelligence  that  a 
larger  body  of  Tory  militia  was  recruiting  for 
the  horse  service,  under  the  command  of  Fer- 
guson, determined  to  attempt  to  rout  them. 
The  Americans  stopped  for  refreshment  at  the 
house  of  Captain  Dillard,  who  was  with  them 
as  a  volunteer,  and  were  entertained  with  milk 
and  potatoes.  They  marched  on  hearing  that 
a  scouting  party  was  in  advance  of  Ferguson's 
station,  and  encamped  for  the  night  at  Green 
Spring.  The  same  evening,  Ferguson,  with  a 
party,  arrived  at  Dillard's  and  made  inquiries 
respecting  Clarke  and  his  men.  Mrs.  Dillard 
replied  that  they  had  been  gone  a  long  time, 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.         127 

and  at  the  bidding  of  the  officers  prepared  sup- 
per. Going  to  and  from  the  kitchen,  she  over- 
heard much  of  their  conversation,  and  ascer- 
tained that  they  knew  where  Clarke  was  en- 
camped, and  were  to  pursue  him,  with  a  view 
to  a  surprise,  as  soon  as  they  had  taken  their 
meal.  No  time  was  to  be  lost.  She  hurried 
the  supper,  and  as  soon  as  the  officers  had  sat 
down,  slipped  out  by  a  back  door.  Late  and 
dark  as  it  was,  her  determination  was  to  go  her- 
self and  apprise  Clarke  of  his  danger,  in  the 
hope  of  being  in  time  for  him  to  make  a  safe 
retreat ;  for  she  believed  that  the  enemy  were 
too  numerous  to  justify  a  battle.  She  went  to 
the  stable,  bridled  a  young  horse,  and,  without 
saddle,  mounted  and  rode  with  all  possible 
speed  to  the  place  described.  It  was  about 
half  an  hour  before  day  when  she  came,  in  full 
gallop,  to  one  of  the  videttes,  by  whom  she  was 
immediately  conducted  to  Colonel  Clarke.  She 
called  to  the  Colonel,  breathless  with  eagerness 
and  haste  :  "  Be  in  readiness  either  to  fight  or 
run ;  the  enemy  will  be  upon  you  immediately, 
and  they  are  strong  !  "  In  an  instant  every 
man  was  up,  and  no  moments  were  lost  in  pre- 
paring for  action.  The  intelligence  came  just 
in  time  to  put  the  Whigs  in  readiness.  Fergu- 
son had  detached  Dunlap,  with  two  hundred 
picked  mounted  men,  to  engage  Clarke  and 
keep   him    employed   till   his   arrival.       These 


128  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

rushed  in  full  charge  into  the  American  camp ; 
but  the  surprise  was  on  their  part.  They  were 
met  hand  to  hand,  with  a  firmness  they  had  not 
anticipated.  Their  confusion  was  increased  by 
the  darkness,  which  rendered  it  hard  to  distin- 
tuish  friend  from  foe.  The  battle  was  warm 
for  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  when  the  Tories 
gave  way." 

The  account  of  Mrs.  Thomas's  heroism  is 
very  similar,  but  so  spirited  that  we  indulge  in 
its  recital.  "The  wife  of  Colonel  Thomas,  who 
was  a  prisoner  at  Ninety-six,  went  to  visit  him 
and  her  two  sons,  his  companions  in  rigorous 
captivity.  By  chance  she  heard  a  Tory  woman 
say  to  some  others :  "  To-morrow  night  the  loy- 
alists intend  to  surprise  the  rebels  at  Cedar 
Spring."  She  was  thrilled  with  alarm  at  this 
intelligence ;  the  Cedar  Spring  was  within  a 
few  miles  of  her  house  ;  the  Whigs  were  posted 
there,  and  among  them  were  some  of  her  own 
children.  Her  resolution  was  taken  at  once ; 
she  determined  to  apprise  them  of  the  enemy's 
intention,  before  the  blow  could  be  struck. 
Bidding  a  hasty  adieu  to  her  husband  and  sons, 
she  was  upon  the  road  as  quickly  as  possible ; 
rode  the  intervening  distance  of  nearly  sixty 
miles  the  next  day,  and  arrived  in  time  to  bring 
information  to  her  friends  of  the  impending 
danger.  The  moment  they  knew  what  was  to 
be  expected,  a  brief  consultation  was  held,  and 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.         129 

measures  were  immediately  taken  for  defence. 
The  soldiers  withdrew  a  short  distance  from 
their  camp-fires,  which  were  prepared  to  burn 
as  brightly  as  possible.  The  men  selected  suit- 
able positions  in  the  surrounding  woods.  Their 
preparations  were  just  completed,  when  they 
heard  in  the  distance,  amid  the  silence  of  the 
night,  the  cautious  advance  of  the  foe.  Slowly 
and  warily  they  came  on,  until  they  were 
already  within  the  glare  of  the  blazing  fires  § 
they  supposed  the  intended  victims  wrapt  in 
heavy  slumber ;  they  heard  but  the  crackling 
of  the  flames,  and  the  hoarse  murmur  of  the 
wind  as  it  swept  through  the  pine-trees.  Giv- 
ing the  signal  for  the  onset,  they  rushed  toward 
the  fires,  eager  for  slaughter  ;  but  suddenly  the 
flashes  and  shrill  reports  of  rifles  revealed  the 
hidden  patriots.  To  their  consternation,  they 
found  themselves  assailed  in  the  rear  by  the 
party  they  had  expected  to  strike  unawares. 
Thrown  into  utter  confusion  by  this  unexpected 
reception,  overwhelming  defeat  was  the  conse- 
quence to  the  loyalists." 

Such  depth  of  enthusiasm  as  the  women  of 
America  manifested  is  almost  sure  to  appear 
somewhere  in  exaggerated  form ;  and  so,  in  a 
few  cases,  women  were  seen  to  lay  aside  the 
delicacy  of  their  se"x,  and  assume  the  functions 
of  man  in  a  fashion,  whose  only  excuse  can  be 
found  in  the  genuine  patriotism  which  induced 


130  TJie  Women  of  the  Revolution, 

them  thus  to  forget  themselves.  Deborah 
Sampson  is  a  most  remarkable  example  of  a 
woman,  who,  for  three  years,  discharged  all  the 
duties  of  a  soldier,  without  betraying  herself  by 
any  sign  of  weakness  or  inefficiency.  Her  sex 
was  never  discovered,  until  upon  occasion  of  a 
severe  spell  of  illness,  when  her  secret  became 
known  to  the  surgeon  who  attended  her.  This, 
however,  he  did  not  betray  until  after  her  per- 
fect restoration  to  health.  Without  consulta- 
tion, he  then  sent  her,  with  a  note  explaining 
the  circumstances,  to  General  Washington  him- 
self. By  this  time,  fully  aware  of  the  predica- 
ment into  which  she  was  thrown,  the  poor  girl 
was  overwhelmed  with  confusion,  and  said  that 
if  the  revered  chieftain  had  spoken  one  word  in 
reproach  she  would  have  fallen  senseless  at  his 
feet.  But  he  forbore  to  speak  the  dreaded 
word,  and  with  her  discharge  a  sufficient  sum  of 
money  was  enclosed  to  defray  her  expenses  until 
she  should  be  able  to  obtain  some  more  suitable 
means  of  livelihood.  Afterwards  she  received 
a  pension  as  a  Revolutionary  soldier,  but  mar- 
ried, and  demeaned  herself  always  as  a  modest, 
sober  matron,  in  no  wise  reminding  her  neigh- 
bors, by  her  manners,  of  the  eccentricities  of 
her  youth.  Several  romantic  episodes  are  con- 
nected with  her  military  career,  one  of  which 
is  the  fact  that  a  wealthy  young  lady  having 
fallen  in  love  with  the  handsome  soldier,  offered 


TJie    Women  of  the  Revolution,         131 

to  bestow  upon  hini  her  fortune  as  well  as  hand. 
Although  lamenting  the  awkwardness  of  the 
adventure,  not  even  gratitude  could  wrest  from 
the  resolute  girl  her  treasured  secret ;  but  mak- 
ing the  best  excuse  she  could,  she  managed  to 
slip  away  from  her  admirer,  and  took  refuge  in 
a  }ret  more  rigid  performance  of  soldierly  duty. 
But  amid  all  the  facts  preserved  which  invest 
the  women  of  that  day  with  piety,  patriotism, 
and  every  attribute  of  noble  character,  ever 
and  anon  crops  forth,  even  from  the  midst  of 
gravest  disquisition,  some  little  stroke  of 
feminine  wit;  the  record  of  some  word 
spoken,  as  words  will  be  spoken  when  a 
woman's  soul  is  stirred,  and  she  uses  her 
tongue,  the  only  weapon  she  feels  to  be  pecu- 
liarly  her  own,  with  freedom ;  then  we  smile, 
perhaps  not  approvingly,  but  pleasantly  withal ; 
for  the  stroke  of  nature  hits,  we  feel  its  force, 
and  henceforth  are  at  home,  our  sympathies 
being  touched.  When  women  seem  endowed 
with  qualities  of  so  lofty  a  nature,  it  is  almost 
a  relief  to  see  them  guilt}7  of  little  imprudences 
or  follies  born  of  warm-hearted  impulse.  We 
like  these  small  failings  that  prove  their  kinship 
to  erring  humanity,  and  show  that  these  very 
heroines  of  history  were  women  to  the  core. 
How  enjoyable  for  instance,  is  the  repartee  of 
of  the  Carolinian  lady,  who,  in  reply  to  a  sar- 
castic remark  from  Colonel  Tarleton  that  he 
9 


132  The    Women  of  the  Revolution. 

would  like  to  see  her  heroic  friend,  Colonel 
Washington,  said  :  "  If  you  had  looked  behind, 
you,  Colonel  Tarleton,  at  the  Battle  of  the  Cow- 
pens,  you  would  have  had  that  pleasure."  Of  a 
different  kind,  but  equally  pointed,  was  the 
retort  of  Mrs.  Dissosway,  of  Staten  Island,  to  the 
British  officer  who  tried  to  bribe  her  into  persuad- 
ing her  brother,  Captain  Randolph  (a  redoubted 
soldier),  to  retire  from  the  army,  by  promising, 
on  that  condition,  to  release  her  imprisoned 
husband.  She  replied  with  a  look  of  scorn  ; 
and  drawing  up  her  tall  figure,  added,  "  And  if 
I  could,  think  you  that  General  Washington 
has  but  one  Captain  Randolph  in  his  army?'* 

When  a  foraging  officer  demanded  the  corn- 
house  key  from  a  farmer's  wife,  and,  upon  her 
refusal,  brandished  his  sword,  in  reply  she  flour- 
ished an  oven-peel,  and  asked,  scornfully,  "  If 
he  drew  his  sword  upon  women."  The  discom- 
fited   warrior  could  but  smile  and  disappear. 

Again,  in  North  Carolina,  after  Gage's  defeat, 
when  Green  had  come  to  them  as  a  deliverer, 
the  dear  creatures  pleased  themselves,  if  they 
did  not  better  the  cause,  by  decking  their  per- 
sons in  everything  green  that  could  be  found. 
Ribbons  and  feathers  of  that  color  became  the 
fashion  of  the  day  ;  and  during  the  absence  of 
their  protectors,  the  Whig  ladies  frequently 
wore  mourning,  or  at  least  a  badge  of  crape. 
One    young    girl,    on    hearing    of    a    success 


The    Women  of  the  Revolution.         133 

achieved  by  the  arms  of  the  patriots,  and  being 
yet  surrounded  by  enemies,  could  not  contain 
her  joy,  but  put  her  mouth  to  the  chimney,  and 
shouted  her  exultation  up  the  flue,  in  default  of 
sympathizing  ears.  Silly,  nonsensical,  the  act 
was,  but  natural  and  girlish  none  the  less. 

Pleasant  would  it  be  to  tarry  longer  among 
these  Revolutionary  scenes,  but  enough  has 
surely  been  said  to  designate  the  type  of  woman 
to  which  our  female  ancestors  belonged,  if  even 
so  much  were  needed ;  for,  is  not  the  record  of 
their  virtues  yet  green  in  the  remembrance  of 
every  native-born  American  ?  Is  not  the  tra- 
dition of  the  large-hearted  hospitality,  unaf- 
fected cordiality,  and  simple  honesty  of  our  Revo- 
lutionary mothers  yet  cherished  among  us  as  a 
precious  legacy? 

And  now  at  the  opening  of  a  second  century 
after  the  inauguration  of  the  first  president  of 
our  Republic,  shall  we  not  set  forth  anew  to 
emulate  their  sturdy  virtues  ?  Let  us  see  to  it 
that  we  eschew  softness  and  love  of  pleasure, 
seeking  through  paths  of  virtue  and  self-denial 
to  attain  moral  rectitude  and  vigor  for  ourselves 
and  ours.  If  so,  we  may  yet  live  to  proclaim 
joyfully,  "  that  the  lines  are  fallen  unto  us  in 
pleasant  places;"  in  nothing  rejoicing  so  much 
as  to  see  that  the  rising  generation  is  no  whit 
likely  to  become  degenerate,  and  dishonor  the 
relationship  which  many  of  them  so  proudly 
trace  to  the  Women  of  the  Revolution. 


